The Trainer

The stream had just ended, but Riley was still glowing.

The ring light was off, but the little pink maid uniform he wore clung to him like it still wanted to perform. The fabric was cheap polyester, cut high at the hips with a lace-trimmed apron barely covering the front of his panties. The bodice was tight—squeeze-your-waist-and-lift-your-tits tight—while the ruffled shoulder straps dug in just enough to remind him they were there. His stockings, sheer and thigh-high, had been sliding down a little during the stream, which made everything feel even sluttier.

He wondered why he'd never dressed that way before. Not only was it fun to put on costumes, but his audience absolutely loved it!

Dusting the dresser, winking at the camera, blowing kisses every time someone tipped. There'd been so many hearts in the comments. And more than one request for a "private cleaning."

Riley giggled to himself, twirling the feather duster in his fingers as he tiptoed through his room. He hadn't taken off the heels yet—black patent with little bows at the ankle—because honestly, they made his legs look amazing.

But that wasn't what was exciting him now.

What was exciting him was the new idea. The one that had come to him in the shower. The one that made his thighs clench and his tummy flutter.

He found Isabelle in the kitchen, unpacking some grocery bags.

"Isa," he whispered, like it was a secret. "I think I need to practice some more."

She turned, raising a perfectly sculpted brow. "Practice? I think we've practiced kissing enough, sweetie."

Riley looked down shyly, tugging at the hem of his skirt even though it was way too short to hide anything. "No, I mean kissing and meditation. At the same time."

A beat passed.

Then Isabelle smiled like a proud teacher. "Oh, babygirl," she said. "That's advanced girlfriend thinking."

Riley beamed.

"But," Isabelle added, stepping closer, "you can't just go into something like that without preparation. You're right. A good girlfriend always trains first. She studies. She rehearses. And she uses the right tools."

Riley nodded so fast his ponytail bounced. "Yes! That's what I want. Please. Teach me."

Isabelle tilted her head, looking him up and down. "First of all, you look adorable. That outfit is so precious."

"I wore it for content," Riley said, biting his lip. "They loved it."

"I bet they did." She reached out and tugged playfully on the little satin bow at his neckline. "And second… you're in luck. I thought you might be ready for this kind of thing soon, and I thought ahead. The trainer that I ordered you came in the mail today."

"My what?"

She disappeared down the hall and came back with a plain, discreet box. No logos. No writing. Just the kind of packaging you knew had something personal inside.

She set it on the bed like it was precious cargo.

"This is your trainer," she said with reverence. "You'll understand once you see it. Just know… it's modeled on the real thing."

Riley's eyes widened.

"The real thing?"

Isabelle winked. "I mean, it's obviously not as good as the real thing, but let's just say it's designed to help you with targeting, pressure, rhythm, and most importantly—confidence."

He was practically vibrating. "Can I see it?"

"Not yet. Go brush your teeth. Gloss. Hair. I want you feeling like you. This is about Chase, remember? This is about his needs. You need to be sure to present yourself as best as you can at all times, for him."

Riley nodded, breathless. He spun on his heel and practically pranced to the bathroom, fluffing his skirt as he went.