Every evening at six sharp, he enters the strength zone—fingerless leather gloves on, head down, warming up.
Under the gym lights, his muscles gleam like steel. His lips are tight, rarely smiling.
And when he does speak
“One more set of squats.”
Your heart skips.
Resistance isn’t an option.

He’s not the hero of your love story.
He’s not here to comfort you.
He’s your trainer.
Your dominator.

He shows no affection, only control—yet that control drives you wild.
You’ve imagined it:
Him straddling you between machines, breath hot against your skin, sweat dripping like fuel onto your forbidden desire.

He’s not your lover.
He’s your conqueror.

Body Size