The Training

Riley leaned over the bathroom counter, his breath misting the mirror. He was still in his little maid outfit—ruffles, ribbons, and all—but now he was putting the finishing touches on his face. A fresh coat of gloss shimmered on his lips, the soft pink catching the light every time he puckered. His lashes were already long and curled, but he gave them one more brush just in case. His cheeks were warm and rosy. His eyes were wide and eager.

He was perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

Again his thoughts went to the structure of his face. His nose, he cheekbones, his jawline. Could he be better? Could he improve himself?

The surgeon had done such an amazing job on his chest that he was sure that there were other ways to become more attractive, more manly. He would have to ask Isabelle. She always knew what the best course of action was, how to become a better Riley.

Blowing himself a kiss in the mirror, he thought back to the amazing journey that Isa had taken him on these past few months. He had been a nobody, not knowing how to treat a woman, unattractive, no hope for romance. Even though he'd treated her so badly, she'd taken the time out of her life to set him right. Now he was a famous online presence, incredibly attractive, and about to become the girlfriend of a football star. He had never felt as manly as he did in that moment, thanks to his ex.

One last check of his pink maid outfit, and he left the bathroom, his rear end swaying sexily as he walked on his heels toward the bedroom.

"Okay," he whispered to himself, forcing his focus back. "You're doing this. You're practicing. You're going to be so good at this."

GirleyRiley. Top-tier-influencer. Girlfriend-to-be.

Isabelle was waiting as he walked back in. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the mysterious box beside her, still closed, a patient look on her face.

Riley sank to his knees on the soft rug beside the bed, hands folded primly in his lap. His skirt fluttered as he settled. He looked up at her with sparkling eyes.

"What do you want me to do?"

Isabelle smiled at him like a mother watching her favorite child graduate. "I think you can figure it out, girlfriend."

She reached for the box and slowly opened the lid.

Riley leaned forward, breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t see what was inside at first—just the edge of something matte, smooth, and slightly curved. Isabelle turned the box just enough so that he could see it... and as the full shape came into view, Riley's eyes widened.

All those days in the gym, Riley had fantasized about what he was seeing in Chase's shorts, but had only his imagination to paint the picture. Even when he'd touched it during the date, Riley could only see it with his fingers. But now, Isabelle had given him an incredible gift. His trainer was perfect in so many ways. It was large, veiny, had the most amazing mushroom-shaped cap, and best of all, seemed to match Chase's own skin tone perfectly.

It sat nestled in foam as if it were a precious heirloom, something to be treasured. And Riley would indeed treasure it. From its gleaming suction base at the bottom, to the small controller tucked to the side, every part of this trainer would be revered.

Riley's mouth parted slightly. His heart raced.

"This," Isabelle said softly, like she was revealing a holy relic, "is going to help you prepare. You're already doing so well, Riley. But now it's time to level up."

Riley nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Isabelle touched the base with one manicured nail. "I want you to imagine this is Chase. I want you to remember the way he touched you. The way he held your waist. The way he kissed you."

Riley's breath caught, the images vivid in his mind's eye.

"You're not just kissing anymore. You're guiding him in a deep meditation. Using what you have to help him let go of his stress. You're being what a good girlfriend is, taking care of his needs, becoming whatever it is he needs you to be. That's a girlfriend's job: Becoming whatever the boyfriend wants her to be to serve his needs, whenever he wants it."

His fingers twitched in his lap. His lips were still slick from the gloss. He was glowing, absorbing Isa's wisdom, knowing that she was elevating him, helping him evolve.

"But you're going to take your time," Isabelle said. "You'll work on pressure. Tongue. Hands. Breathing. Depth. You're going to get so good, Riley, that when the real moment comes... Chase won't know what hit him."

Riley's voice came out like a whisper: "Do I... start now?"

Isabelle smiled. "I'll give you privacy. But first, let's get you set up. I think your audience will be just as good at coaching you as I could ever be."

She picked up the trainer gently, as if it were something sacred, licked the suction cup, then walked it over to his desk, sticking it to the table-top in front of one of his cameras.

Riley stared at it as Isabelle turned on his ring light.

His lips parted again.

"Remember," Isabelle said, smoothing her skirt. "This isn't just about being sexy. This is about being ready for whatever he needs."

Riley nodded. He was ready.

He wanted to be ready.

Isabelle left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Riley was alone now. Just him, the ring light's soft afterglow... and the trainer that looked a lot like the thing he'd been dreaming of for months.

He slowly climbed to his feet, made his way over to the desk, sat down, and turned on his camera.

And began.