It’s not until I’ve stepped in with both feet and he’s pulling them up my legs that I realize it’s not panties. I glance down to see black spandex shorts. He pulls them over my hips and pats my bottom. “Perfect fit.”
I’m not sure I agree. They are tight and very short. My cheeks are barely covered and without panties, the seam is between my labia.
“Arms up.”
Luckily, I’ve regained some equilibrium and manage to release his shoulders to lift my arms.
I’m not sure why I didn’t consider this part of asking to work out. I hadn’t thought about what he might have me wear. The shirt he’s now tugging down over my breasts is a tiny, tight, pink tank top. It would be too revealing for the beach, especially in combination with the tight shorts. It reaches my shorts but it hugs my breasts and nipples tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination.
I can’t imagine working out without a sports bra, especially jogging. Lucky for me, it’s not entirely necessary. My boobs are small, super-small compared to the ones I’m used to seeing on dancers at the club. Apparently, I didn’t get much breast tissue in the genetic gene pool.
The fact that a bra isn’t strictly necessary doesn’t change the fact that I’m used to wearing one and I feel oddly naked and exposed in this shirt.
I decide to speak up. “I’m not sure I can jog without a sports bra, Sir.”
He slides his hands up so that once again his thumbs are grazing the underside of my boobs. “I’m equally unsure how I’m going to work out with these sweet little titties teasing me from across the room. However, hard rule. We can negotiate when we leave the house, but when you’re inside, you’re my little girl, too young for bras. Not even while working out. Take it or leave it.”
I sigh. “Okay.”
He stands and heads for my bathroom.
I follow and find him holding my brush. He arranges me in front of him and takes a few minutes to brush out the tangles before dividing my hair into three groups and deftly braiding it down my back. “There. That will keep it out of your way. I’m going to grab us some water. Use the potty, sweetie, and meet me in the workout room.”
I hurry to pee and wash my hands and splash my face and then rush to find Davis. When I arrive, he hands me a pair of brand-new sneakers and ankle socks. Both are pink and I smile as I sit down to put them on, wondering how the hell he always manages to have exactly what I need within hours of me needing it.
“Do you want to start out on the treadmill, sweet girl?”
I nod and head over to where he’s standing.
“Climb on. Let me show you how it works. I’ll start it for you, and you can increase the speed.”
“Yes, Sir.” I step onto it. I’ve used one of these before. It’s not rocket science. Lucky for me there’s a small workout room in the basement of my apartment building. It doesn’t have much, but it’s free, and it works.
Davis pushes a few buttons and points out several others, and then as it starts, he leaves me to adjust it and climbs onto the elliptical. He’s across from me, watching me. It’s unnerving and it’s about to get worse.
At first, I start out walking, picking up the pace for the next three minutes. It’s not enough. I need to jog. I’m used to jogging three miles. I’m going to have to get over my lack of bra and go for it.
I turn up the speed and start to jog. Oh, yeah. It’s weird. My boobs are small, but they’re bouncing. Every step causes them to lift and fall, my nipples rubbing the front of my tank top.
I try to adjust by tugging down my shirt and then supporting my boobs with my forearms.
I gasp when Davis clears his throat. “Stop worrying about your tits, sweetie. They’re fine. Keep your hands away from them. They aren’t so large that you need support. It’s all in your head.”
I flush as I drop my hands and try hard to focus on something else, but when I lift my gaze, I see that the entire wall across from me is a mirror. Great. Now I’m watching my boobs bounce up and down with every step.