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From: "Mark Wiseman" <wiseguy35@hotmail.com>
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ReSent-Subject: {ASSM} A MATTER OF MOTIVATION (MF hyp cons) by Wiseguy
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Subject: {ASSM} A MATTER OF MOTIVATION (MF hyp cons) by Wiseguy
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A MATTER OF MOTIVATION

by Mark Wiseman (Wiseguy)

Story Codes:

MF - Sex between an adult man and woman.
HYP - Hypnoerotica; that is, the consentual use of hypnosis in conjunction with sex
CONS - All sex is strictly consentual

This story first appeared as part of the Mark Wiseman Festival at Ruthie's
Club (http://www.ruthiesclub.com) in April 2003.  This is its first release
to a public forum.  

-wg

-------------------------------------------------------
<1st attachment, "motivation.txt" begin>

NOTICE:  This story contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity 
between consenting persons.  If you are not of legal age to read such 
material, or if you find it offensive, then stop reading now.

This story is (c) Copyright 2003 by Wiseguy and may not be reposted on 
any for-profit system.  Posting on a noncommercial site is normally 
okay, but check with me first and do not alter the story in any way.

The full text of this and all Wiseguy stories is available for download 
(text or PDF) or for on-line viewing (HTTP) at my web site,  
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Wiseguy/www.

I welcome all comments from readers (wiseguy35@hotmail.com).






A Matter of Motivation

by Mark Wiseman





"Come on, Scott," Temlyn urged me. "One more set. You can 
do this."

But my lungs were bursting, sweat was dripping from every 
pore in my body, and my legs felt like rubber. I looked up 
into her upside-down face and shook my head. "Not today," I 
told her. My feet came unhooked from the bar at the top of 
the exercise machine and I slid down to the floor with a 
heavy sigh. "I'm through."

Temlyn sat quietly, waiting for my breathing to return to 
normal. Eventually I felt recovered enough to roll off the 
machine and sit across from her on the floor. I grabbed a 
towel and wiped off sweat, concentrating on the task so I 
wouldn't have to see the hint of disapproval in my personal 
trainer's face.

"We still have a little over ten minutes," she noted in a 
neutral voice. "Maybe we should spend that time talking 
about your goals."

Grunting heavily, I got up and headed for the kitchen. I 
poured two glasses of sugar-free lemonade and set them down 
on the table. Temlyn joined me and took a long pull from 
her drink. Her eyes said everything her mouth would not.

"I pretty much sucked on it today," I admitted, surprising 
neither of us.

Temlyn's expression was noncommittal. "You seemed 
distracted," she said. "Like there's something bothering 
you."

Oh, what the hell, I thought. "I'm getting frustrated, I 
guess."

"Oh?"

"I've been stuck at the same weight for over a month now," 
I complained. "I'm doing all the things I did to lose 50 
pounds, but now that I'm down to that last ten it's like 
everything stopped working. I even gained a pound from last 
week to this week. It just seems hopeless."

"Everybody hits plateaus, Scott," she told me. "Those last 
few pounds are always the hardest ones to let go of. But if 
you let yourself get discouraged, if you start cutting back 
on your workout time, it gets even harder. Instead of 
thinking about how your program isn't working, try focusing 
on just getting through each set and doing as much as you 
can. Eventually, the rest will take care of itself."

Easy for you to say, I thought, glancing enviously at her 
lithe body. Temlyn was perfectly toned, slim and athletic. 
Her black leotard clung tightly enough to make that very 
clear. But what else would anyone expect of a personal 
trainer? I, on the other hand, was a desk jockey-a 
contracts manager for a government contractor. Aside from 
the smarmy insurance guy who'd taken my vital statistics 
with raised eyebrows, who really cared if I was a little 
soft around the middle?

I did, as it turned out. The question was did I have the 
resolve to finish what I'd started?

Temlyn was digging through her purse. "Here," she said, 
handing me a cream-colored business card. "I've given out a 
lot of these cards. If it's just a matter of needing extra 
motivation, she can help you."

I took the card. Change is natural, it read. So is 
resistance to change. Hypnosis can help. The therapist's 
name was followed by a series of initials, an address, 
phone number, and email address.

"Hypnosis?" 

Temlyn nodded. "It can work wonders if you want it to."

And so it was that I found myself leaving work early on a 
Thursday afternoon to visit the office of Madison Palmer, 
Clinical Hypnotherapist. A pretty receptionist greeted me 
warmly and handed me an intake form that asked for my 
medical history and vital statistics. I finished that in 
short order, handed it back to the receptionist, and amused 
myself by studying the decorations in the waiting room.

The long wall was covered with movie posters. I noted a 
production still of Bela Lugosi from Dracula, his eyes 
glowing as he stared into the camera; Emma Thompson's 
mesmerized face, from Dead Again; Kevin Bacon staring into 
a massive blank movie screen, from Stir of Echoes; Woody 
Allen and Helen Hunt, from Curse of the Jade Scorpion; 
Boris Karloff and a young woman I didn't recognize, 
presumably from an old horror film. There were more that I 
didn't recognize, from older films by the look of them. On 
the wall behind the receptionist, a functional clock shaped 
like a giant pocket watch told the time. Next to her, a 
display case held at least two dozen real pocket watches, 
all hanging on short chains. On the high ledge of the 
receptionist's desk, next to a practical, low-maintenance 
potted plant, a metronome ticked away, its arm swinging 
slowly back and forth. Back and forth...

"Scott?"

A kindly-looking, 40-something woman was standing in the 
doorway looking at me. "This way, please."

I pulled my wits back together and stood up, following the 
woman into the next room. She closed the door behind us and 
extended her hand. "I'm Madison Palmer."

Her handshake was firm but gentle. "Have a seat," she said, 
leaving it to me to choose. The room had two overstuffed 
recliners, a wooden rocker and a large leather love seat 
arranged around a glass coffee table. I took one of the 
recliners. She sat in the rocking chair to my right.

"Interesting décor out there," I said, indicating the 
waiting room. 

She smiled. "Everyone who comes here for the first time has 
those stereotypical images in mind anyway. My partner and I 
feel that putting them out on display gives people 
perspective and makes it easier to set them aside."

"It's a thought," I granted.

She was skimming over my intake form. "I see you've 
recently quit smoking. How is that going for you?"

"Fine. It's been months since I even thought about having a 
cigarette, which is amazing considering the number of co-
workers I have who still gather at the loading dock four 
times a day."

"Good for you," she affirmed. "And how does it feel, 
knowing you're going to live a longer and healthier life 
because of what you've done for yourself?"

"Great." I hadn't really thought about it that way, but 
what she said made sense.

"I see you're working out with Temlyn," she continued. "Is 
that going fine, too?"

"Could be better," I admitted. "I've sort of hit a plateau, 
and I'm having a hard time finding the motivation to break 
through it."

"Plateaus can be tough to work through," she agreed. "One 
thing that helps is to remember why you started working out 
in the first place. Why was that?"

I thought about it. "It goes back to the cigarettes. I 
gained a lot of weight when I quit, especially after Pam 
and I broke up. My clothes were too tight and starting to 
give at the pressure points. I figured I had two choices: 
start shopping at the Big and Tall store, or get into 
shape."

"So you're doing it primarily for yourself? That's good. 
Oftentimes when we try to make a change to please someone 
else, we find that the motivation isn't really there. But 
when you decide to do it for yourself, because you want to 
and because it's important to you, then you have the 
ability to motivate yourself to make the change happen. And 
it feels so good to be able to make positive changes in 
your own life, does it not?"

I realized I had been nodding with her all along. "Of 
course," I agreed. And in that moment I did feel good. I'd 
achieved a lot already, I realized. I had a right to feel 
good about it.

Madison was watching me with a smile. "I know I can help 
you get past your plateau, Scott. Are you ready to go into 
hypnosis now, or would you like to discuss things a little 
more first?"

"I'm ready now."

"That's good. You may want to put your feet up and get 
yourself nice and comfortable in the chair. You can put 
your hands in your lap, or on the arms of the chair, 
whichever is more comfortable for you." 

I pulled the lever on the side of the recliner, brought up 
the footrest, and arranged myself comfortably. "All set," I 
told her.

She nodded. "I'm not going to start waving a pocket watch 
or a sparkling crystal at you, or ask you to stare at the 
wall. The truth is, going into hypnosis is a perfectly 
natural thing and is something you can do all by yourself, 
whenever and wherever you want to. You may, Scott, recall a 
time when you were watching a movie, and you became so 
engrossed in the movie that you never noticed the things 
happening around you ... or reading a book, and being focused 
so intensely on your reading that you can almost see the 
characters and events in your mind."

Her voice was smooth and even. As she spoke, I found myself 
remembering times when I'd been lost in a movie or book, 
and wondered if that was a kind of hypnosis, as she seemed 
to imply.

"... or listening to a speaker," she continued, "and finding 
that as you listen, your mind begins to wander and your 
eyes just seem to close down now, allowing you to 
concentrate on your breathing. Breathing in... that's right... 
and breathing out. Letting each breath in bring calmness 
and relaxation, and letting each breath out take with it 
some of the tensions and anxieties that may be cluttering 
your mind. And as you continue to... relax deeply now ... 
noticing how your heart beats easily, becoming a little 
slower and easier as you... go deeper into hypnosis..." 

Go deeper? Was I in hypnosis already? And when had my eyes 
closed? The questions formed and, just as quickly, seemed 
to fade away. Madison's voice also seemed to fade, becoming 
little more than a background noise, too hard to keep track 
of. Somewhere in the distance, I heard myself counting down 
from one hundred. I might have made it to 96 before the 
numbers became jumbled in my head and disappeared. I let 
them go. I let everything go. 

I floated in that chair-not asleep yet not awake-for some 
time. It was very pleasant, almost as if I'd forgotten 
about having a body for a while. Then Madison's voice came 
back, counting upward. I knew what that meant, but I didn't 
want to leave the place I'd found.

"Scott, if you don't come back for me now I'll have to 
charge you for another session."

My eyes opened, and I saw Madison looking at me, chuckling 
softly. "That line always works," she said. "How do you 
feel?"

I took a quick inventory. "A little woozy, like I've 
seriously overslept."

She nodded. "You're a natural at this. Most people don't go 
that deep so easily."

As my head cleared, I checked my watch and got another 
surprise: it was 4:45 in the afternoon. My appointment had 
been for four o'clock and I was fairly sure we'd started on 
time, if not a few minutes early. "Where did the time go?"

"To productive use," Madison responded. "I think you'll 
find that you can easily block out the distractions now and 
focus on your goals. You'll be breaking through that 
plateau very soon now."

I found myself nodding, even as I searched my mind for any 
recollection at all of the previous half hour. "Why don't I 
remember anything?"

"It's okay," she assured me. "Spontaneous amnesia is common 
at the depth of trance you reached. You'll remember it all 
eventually, when you're ready to. Until then, you can just 
accept that your unconscious mind knows what it's doing and 
will be working for you."

It didn't seem as though I had much choice anyway, so I let 
it go. "When should I come back?"

She smiled. "When you need my help with something else."

It took me a moment to get the implication. "You mean I'm 
done in one session?"

"Absolutely. You'll see."

It hardly seemed credible to me, but I could see there was 
no shaking the woman's confidence. So I paid her, thanked 
her, and left.

I first noticed the change the next morning when I went to 
work. About three blocks from the office, my eye fell on an 
empty parking space ahead. Without even thinking, I pulled 
into it and killed the engine. I grabbed my briefcase and 
strolled toward the office. As I walked, I noticed how 
pleasant it felt to be outside strolling down the sidewalk. 
Beats the parking garage, I thought.

Soon I was entering the lobby of my building, waving to the 
security guards as I passed through the metal detector. I 
started to join the crowd in front of the elevators, but on 
an impulse I stepped around them and pushed open the door 
to the stairwell. It felt good to let my legs carry me up 
to my fourth floor office. And in the back of my head, I 
heard Madison Palmer's voice: "...you can park farther away 
from the office, so you can really enjoy walking to and 
from your car... you can use the stairs instead of the 
elevator..."

And my own voice, from a thousand miles away: "...Exercise 
is like making love to my body..."

As the day went on, I found myself getting up from my seat 
a lot. If I stayed in it for more than 15 minutes or so, I 
started getting antsy and thinking of things I needed to do 
elsewhere in the office. It didn't really bother me; on 
some level, I knew it was a result of my hypnosis session 
and would ultimately be good for me. I had the same thought 
when I got home. I'd stopped for groceries on the way, but 
instead of loading up all of the bags and carrying them in 
at once I made several trips, taking only one bag each 
time. "Exercise," I heard myself saying, "is like making 
love to my body."

On Saturday afternoon I finished scrubbing the kitchen 
floor-something I'd been putting off for weeks-just in time 
for Temlyn's scheduled arrival.

"Come on in," I called at her knock while I took my bucket 
to the slop sink in the garage.

Temlyn was in her usual appointment gear, a stretchy black 
leotard that put her excellent figure on full display. She 
wore minimal makeup and no jewelry, and her short blonde 
hair had that deliberately unkempt, bed-head look. "That's 
an unusual warm-up," she joked, indicating the bucket.

"Blame it on Madison Palmer," I complained. "Ever since I 
left her office the other day I seem to be going out of my 
way to find things to do." I told her about parking three 
blocks from the office, taking the stairs, and the other 
things I'd felt compelled to do.

Temlyn chuckled while she listened to the litany. "Is all 
that so bad?"

I sighed. "That's the thing-no, it isn't. I know this is 
all stuff I should be doing anyway, so it doesn't really 
bother me. It's just weird having this feeling that part of 
me isn't in on the new plan. I wonder if I'm going to wake 
up one morning craving tofu." 

"Not likely," she giggled. "Even Madison has her limits."

We went downstairs to the corner of the basement I'd set up 
as my in-home gym. It was a twelve by twelve area delimited 
by cheap carpet set down over the best padding available, 
giving the floor a firm but soft feel to it. In that area I 
had three pieces of equipment: a treadmill, a multipurpose 
resistance training set, and a heavy punching bag suspended 
from the ceiling joists on a chain. The treadmill was for 
aerobic work when the weather outside wouldn't permit a 
good walk, the bag was for raw stress relief, and the 
resistance set was for working with Temlyn. It was 
basically a bench on a track, with a series of different 
pulleys and attachments that could be used to change the 
motions. There were no weights-like a lot of home gym sets, 
the system was designed to leverage the user's own body 
weight for resistance. 

We started out, as usual, with stretches. I found myself 
focusing on the tendons as I stretched them out. I was 
hardly aware of Temlyn's gentle touch reminding me to hold 
form. 

Before I knew it the stretching was over and Temlyn was 
setting up the resistance rig for my usual Saturday 
regimen. When I'd first bought it, I kept it at the lowest 
setting. Since working with Temlyn, we'd been slowly 
raising it until I was now working at nearly my full body 
weight. I watched eagerly as she set the bench now at full 
body weight. "Let's start with the butterflies," she said.

It was all the invitation I needed. I took a seat on the 
bench, facing forward, and pushed the sliding platform back 
with my feet. Temlyn gave me the handles, each of which was 
attached to a steel cable that ran through pulleys at the 
back of the machine. She put a foot on the track to hold 
the platform while I assumed the butterfly position: feet 
straight, toes pointing upward, sitting upright with my 
arms stretched out and elbows bent. "Ready," I told her.

Temlyn moved her foot and I felt my weight on the handles. 
My vision focused on a point ahead of me. I took a deep 
breath and, as I exhaled, I pulled my arms forward until 
they were parallel to my legs. Temlyn counted out the reps, 
but her voice faded as I felt my mind sliding into its own 
place. Exercise is like making love to my body, it said.

As I continued, pulling forward on each exhale and slowly 
returning to starting position on each inhale, that phrase 
repeated itself in my head like a mantra. Exercise is like 
making love to my body... Exercise is like making love to 
my body...

"Okay, rest for a minute." Temlyn put her foot on the 
machine, locking the action for me, so I could rest my 
muscles for sixty seconds before the next set. I felt good-
no, I felt damn good, as if a lover were caressing my 
muscles. The next set went just as well as the first, the 
mantra still running through my head. 

The first two sets of each exercise are for a set number of 
reps. For the butterfly, I usually do 25 reps. The third 
set is unlimited-we work until my muscles fail which, of 
late, had been around 30 to 35 reps. As usual, Temlyn 
counted out the final set silently, so I wouldn't know how 
many I'd done. It didn't really matter because I was too 
focused on my mantra to pay attention to her. With each 
rep, that sensation of being caressed by a lover grew 
stronger and more pleasant. A strange sort of erotic charge 
started building in my gut and points south as I felt my 
arm and chest muscles strain to keep going. When they 
finally couldn't pull me up one more time, I dropped the 
handles and sighed as the endorphins kicked in all over. 

Temlyn's voice poked through the clouds I was floating on. 
"Scott, do you have any idea how many reps you just did?"

"None whatsoever," I sighed, still riding the high.

"Forty-seven."

My eyes met hers. "Holy shit," I groaned. Part of that was 
motivated by the number, which was a personal high, and 
part by the realization that I had a tremendous hard-on. 

"Great job," she said, punctuating it with a friendly slap 
on the thigh. "Now scoot down and we'll do some alternating 
arm pullovers."

I scooted my butt down on the bench, extremely conscious of 
the fact that my dick was pointing straight forward. By 
keeping my legs bent, feet at the edge of the platform, I 
was able to more or less hide it in the folds of my gym 
shorts.

The arm pullover uses different muscle groups than the 
butterfly. I alternated between my left and right arms, 
pulling my weight up the track and slowly letting it down 
again, as Temlyn counted the reps. And just as with the 
butterfly, as my muscles tired I felt that sensation of 
loving hands massaging them, and the mantra grew louder and 
more insistent in my brain. Exercise is like making love to 
my body...

"Scott, you're moving your hips. Try and keep them still."

We were in the third set, and the sensations were getting 
to me. I could feel my dick trying to tear a hole in my 
briefs. I was becoming so aroused my hips were flexing on 
their own, as if an invisible lover were riding me. And 
still I kept pulling. Exercise is like making love to my 
body...

Temlyn reached across my body and pressed down on my far 
hip with her hand, bringing her forearm directly into 
contact with my bulging member. My hips flexed anyway, 
making things that much worse, and Temlyn's arm pulled back 
with a gasp. Just then, my arm muscles decided to give out. 
I put my legs down and dropped the handles with a long 
moan, giving up all further attempts at hiding the tent 
pole in my shorts. I felt a mild urge to just grab on to it 
and pump myself to orgasm. 

"What's going on, Scott?" Her face showed both concern and 
puzzlement.

"Exercise," I sighed heavily, "is like making love to my 
body."

Temlyn stared into my face, her mouth open. Then she stared 
at my crotch. Then, to my surprise, she blushed a deep red 
and burst out laughing.

"Hey," I objected. "You're messing with my fragile male ego 
here."

"I'm sorry," she said between fits of giggling. "I think 
I've heard that line a hundred times, from a bunch of 
different people. I even hear it in my own head when I work 
out, thanks to Madison. But you, Scott, are the first 
person I've ever seen take it quite so literally."

I had to admit, it was kind of funny. Laughing with her 
even helped to take the edge off a little bit. "So now what 
do we do?"

She shrugged. "Just go with it, I guess. Hop off and think 
about baseball while I reconfigure."

"Cute. Want some lemonade?"

"Sure."

I trotted up the stairs and fixed two tall glasses. The 
cold liquid helped to get my libido back under control, at 
least temporarily. 

When I got back downstairs, I almost dropped the glasses. 
Temlyn's leotard was gone. She had changed into a gray 
sports bra and running shorts.  Very short running shorts. 

"You... changed," I noted awkwardly.

Her eyes sparkled and she laughed at me. "You noticed! 
Relax, Scott; I'm just getting comfortable." She took a 
drink of lemonade and I watched her throat muscles move 
with each swallow, feeling the tingling coming back to my 
shorts already. 

Finally she gave me a stern look. "Are you going to stare 
at me or get on the machine?"

I put my half-empty glass down and climbed back onto the 
resistance system, which Temlyn had configured for leg 
curls. This was where I'd given out last time. I lay on the 
sliding bench with my head near the floor, facing up. The 
position gave me an upside-down view of Temlyn as she 
approached me. 

"Good," she said, while I tried not to notice how easy it 
was to look up her shorts as she stood over me. Then she 
squatted down and pushed the slide up a little bit, leaving 
me an even closer view to try and ignore. "Hook your feet 
on the bar, please." 

I complied and felt my weight resting on the tops of my 
feet where they hooked the upper bar. Temlyn looked down at 
me. "Like the view?"

"Sure... I mean... umm..." I was at a loss. Then I saw the 
wicked grin on her face. "Cute," I said wryly. "Shall we 
start now?"

She nodded. "Two sets of twenty-five curls, then let's see 
how many you can do for the third set. Go!"

My legs squeezed and the bench rose, bring my rear end 
almost up to my ankles. I held it there for a heartbeat, 
then slowly returned myself to the lower position. My eyes 
were staring upward, and when I reached the end I found 
them looking straight up the leg of Temlyn's shorts again. 
Was that a patch of white cotton? After a few reps, it 
didn't matter any more-I was back in the zone, 
concentrating on the feelings in my muscles and hearing 
that mantra in my head again. Exercise is like making love 
to my body.

Leg curls have always been the hardest part of the routine 
for me, and the effects of whatever Madison Palmer had 
suggested to me seemed to increase with the amount of 
exertion my muscles endured. By the time I finished the 
first set I was sporting major wood. Midway through the 
second, I felt as if someone had a hand around my shaft and 
was rubbing it slowly with each rep. 

Temlyn squatted down at the bottom of the incline as I 
began the third set, watching my body intently. The 
caressing sensations continued in my legs and groin, made 
worse by having my head inches from Temlyn's crotch at the 
end of each rep. After one rep I looked up and saw nipples 
pushing hard against the sports bra. And was it just me, or 
was I starting to smell her more? Exercise is like making 
love...

"You did it!" Temlyn's voice shouted as she jumped to her 
feet. "Three full sets!" And then she was standing by my 
feet, kneading my exhausted calves and hamstrings. It felt 
incredibly good. So good that for a moment I almost forgot 
a certain other muscle, which was standing up and begging 
for the same attention.

"Hooray, me," I replied, feeling myself getting harder and 
hotter. My feet slipped out from under the bar and I rolled 
off the machine. I looked over at Temlyn. "Crunches now?"

I usually do three sets of abdominal crunches at the end of 
each workout. But Temlyn shook her head and smiled lustily. 
"How about something a little more interesting?"

I shrugged. "Okay."

She grabbed my feet and dragged me away from the machine 
playfully, laughing as I grabbed at my shorts to stop them 
riding up my crack. She pulled my shoes off, removed her 
own, then lay down on her back opposite me and extended her 
legs, locking them together with mine. I got the idea 
quickly. "Sit-ups?"

"That's right," she confirmed. "Old fashioned, but still 
very effective. You don't have any back trouble, so we can 
do them safely. If you can give me three sets of twenty, 
I'll give you a reward." Her foot brushed my thigh in a way 
that suggested one hell of a good reward.

Temlyn didn't just anchor my legs-every time I sat up I saw 
her rising up to meet me. Our eyes met at the end of each 
rep at first, but as we made our way through the second set 
I started to catch her looking elsewhere. I became 
increasingly aware of my legs and the touch of her skin 
against mine. Exercise is like making love...

We were counting together at the close of the third set: 
"...Eighteen... Nineteen... Twenty!" At the top of the 
final rep, her arms whipped out from behind her head and 
encircled me, pulling our faces together. Her lips found 
mine and parted quickly. She tasted sweet and salty, a 
combination of the lemonade and a little bit of sweat from 
our exertions. 

My hands went exploring and found the smooth, stretchy 
fabric of the sports bra. I ran my hands along the sides, 
then slipped my thumbs in and forward until they brushed 
her nipples. She moaned and broke the kiss, leaving us 
sitting together with legs entwined. 

Temlyn looked across at me with the knowledge of my arousal 
showing in her face. Slowly, sensuously, she ran her hands 
across her chest and lifted off the sports bra to reveal an 
exquisite pair of breasts: round, plump, and just the right 
shape and size to hold one in each hand. 

It was an invitation no hetero male could decline. I 
reached out, took a breast in each hand, and caressed them. 
Temlyn guided me, dropping her head back and moaning with 
pleasure. Somehow in the process we managed to get our legs 
separated. I got up on my knees and gently bore her down to 
the mat. There I kissed and suckled on each breast in turn, 
tasting the sweat and the skin and wanting more. I kissed 
my way down her belly, past her navel, and peeled off her 
remaining clothes before settling in for a light afternoon 
snack.

Temlyn was in great shape, of course. I felt nothing but 
muscle in the thighs that clamped down on my head and the 
hips that buckled as I ran my tongue around and through her 
every nook and cranny. I could have stayed there all day, 
but a pair of powerful hands grabbed me by the head and 
hauled me back upward. Her toes tugged at my shorts until 
they were down around my knees, freeing my cock at last. 
One of Temlyn's hands grabbed it, squeezed it once, and 
guided it home.

"How many reps?" I teased as I felt myself bottoming out 
inside her.

She looked up at me, her face betraying both urgency and 
amusement. "Work until failure," she advised. "It's the 
best way to build endurance."

"Yes, ma'am." Further frivolity quickly became impossible 
as our bodies found a common rhythm and moved to it. Our 
eyes locked together and our breathing synchronized. 
Temlyn's strong legs gripped me and held me, keeping me as 
close as possible. My calf and leg muscles, still tired 
from the leg pulls, strained to hold the position. Then, to 
my relief, Temlyn's hands clawed at the carpeting and her 
body trembled, signaling the start of her climax. 

It was a ferocious one. Her entire body took part, 
clenching every muscle she had, including the ones locked 
around me. The intensity was contagious. All it took was a 
few seconds of watching her face to send me over the edge, 
too. Forgetting the impending mutiny threatened by my leg 
muscles, I held on with everything and let the pleasure 
engulf me. 

A minute later, I found myself collapsing onto the carpet 
next to Temlyn. She opened her eyes, still panting heavily, 
and looked into mine. "Now that," she sighed, "was a 
workout."


A few days later, I phoned Madison Palmer and gave her a 
PG-13 version of the workout session. When I described the 
full effects of her suggestion, she laughed heartily. "I'm 
sorry," she offered after the first guffaws, still failing 
to suppress the others. "I realize it was no joke to you. 
Let's get you back in here and reword that a bit."

"Actually," I said, "it's okay. Temlyn and I talked, and we 
decided we like it this way. Not only are my workouts more 
interesting, but it looks like I'm breaking through the 
plateau as well-I've dropped two and a half pounds this 
week."

"That's wonderful," she replied. "And you know you can keep 
doing that for as long as you feel the need. You'll find it 
very easy to keep your activity level just high enough to 
maintain your goal weight."

"I suspect so," I agreed. After all, there's nothing like 
having the right kind of motivation.

-wg
4/17/03

 
 
 
 
<1st attachment end>


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