Chapter 3: The Gym Bunny
Three days. Seventy-two fucking hours of radio silence, and Jay had checked his phone so many times the screen protector was smeared with fingerprints. He'd sent one text the morning after the party—something casual, something that didn't reek of desperation. Had fun last night. We should do it again. No response. Not even a read receipt. Just that hollow blue bubble floating in the void, mocking him every time he unlocked the screen.
He racked the barbell with more force than necessary, the clang of iron against iron echoing through the near-empty gym. His muscles burned, sweat dripping down his temple and pooling in the hollow of his throat, but the pain wasn't enough to drown out the replay loop in his head. Grace's face in that mirror. The way her mascara had run in black rivulets down her cheeks. The sound she'd made when he'd buried himself inside her, that raw, guttural moan that had vibrated through her entire body.
And then nothing.
Jay grabbed his water bottle and drained half of it in one go, the cold liquid doing nothing to cool the heat crawling under his skin. He'd pushed too hard. That had to be it. He'd seen the flicker of something in her eyes when he'd cuffed her wrists. Not fear, exactly. Something more complicated. And then he'd fucked her like an animal, come inside her without asking, and she'd let him—let him—but maybe that was the problem.
Maybe she'd let him because she was too shocked to stop him.
"Fuck," he muttered, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. The gym was practically empty at this hour, just a few diehards on the treadmills and one guy doing bicep curls in the mirror with terrible form. Jay had come here to escape, to punish his body into exhaustion so his brain would shut the fuck up for five minutes.
It wasn't working.
He loaded another plate onto the bar, settled onto the bench, and started pressing. The weight was heavy—heavier than his usual working set—and the strain in his chest was a welcome distraction. His arms shook on the last rep, and he racked it with a grunt, sitting up and grabbing his towel.
That's when he noticed her.
She was standing by the cable machines, pretending to adjust the weight pin, but her eyes kept darting toward him. Tiny thing, couldn't have been more than five feet even in her trainers. Long blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail that swished every time she moved. The workout fit was almost aggressively cute—baby blue sports bra and matching shorts that hugged her ass like a second skin, leaving a strip of toned stomach exposed. White ankle socks peeked out above her sneakers.
Jay had seen her before. She was always here, always in his peripheral vision, always staring. He'd noticed her weeks ago, filed her away in the back of his mind as that tiny blonde who wants to climb me like a tree, and then promptly forgotten about her because he'd been too busy thinking about Grace.
But Grace wasn't here. Grace hadn't texted back. Grace had left him with nothing but blue balls and a crippling sense of regret.
The blonde unhooked the cable and started doing tricep pushdowns, her form perfect, her eyes on him in the mirror. Jay watched her for a moment, then made a decision.
He stood up, slung his towel around his neck, and walked over.
"Your elbows are flaring," he said, leaning against the machine next to hers. "You'll get more activation if you tuck them in."
She blinked up at him, a flush creeping up her neck. Up close, she was even smaller than he'd thought. Delicate. The kind of girl you could pick up with one arm.
"I—yeah, I know. I was just—" She stopped, bit her lip, and let out a little laugh. "Okay, I was totally watching you. That's embarrassing."
"Not embarrassing." Jay smiled, the easy, charming smile that had gotten him laid more times than he could count. "Flattering, actually."
"I'm Cara." She let go of the cable and turned to face him fully, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. "You're Jay, right? I've seen you here basically every day."
"Guilty." He let his gaze drift down her body, slow and deliberate, then back up to her face. She shivered. "You here alone?"
"My roommate was supposed to come, but she bailed." Cara shrugged, the movement making her ponytail bounce. "So I was just gonna do some cardio and leave, but then I saw you, and—" She laughed again, nervous and bright. "God, I'm rambling. Sorry."
"Don't apologize." Jay stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her—strawberry body spray and clean sweat. "I was actually about to head out. Get some food. You hungry?"
Cara's eyes widened. "Are you—are you asking me out?"
"I'm asking if you want to get out of here." He held her gaze, letting the implication hang in the air between them. "Unless you'd rather stay and watch me do another set."
"No," she said quickly. "No, I'm—yeah. Let's go."
---
The drive to his apartment took twelve minutes. Cara talked the whole way, filling the silence with nervous chatter about her classes, her roommate, the guy who'd been hogging the squat rack for an hour. Jay nodded along, making the right noises, but his mind was already elsewhere. Already picturing what she'd look like spread for him, her tiny wrists cuffed, her blonde hair fanned out.
She was exactly his type. Petite, eager, the kind of girl who'd let him do whatever he wanted and thank him for it afterward. The kind of girl who wouldn't leave in the middle of the night without a word.
The kind of girl who wasn't Grace.
He shoved that thought down as he pulled into the parking garage. Cara was still talking, something about her ex-boyfriend being a "total dick," and Jay tuned back in just in time to nod sympathetically.
"Sounds like a loser," he said, killing the engine.
"The worst." Cara unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face him, her expression shifting from chatty to something more serious. "So. This is your place?"
"Yep."
"Are we going to go inside, or are we just going to sit here?"
Jay laughed, a real one this time. "Impatient?"
"Maybe." She bit her lip again, and this time it wasn't nervous. It was an invitation. "I've been watching you for weeks, Jay. I know what I want."
"Good." He got out of the car, walked around to her door, and opened it for her. "Because I'm not really in the mood for games tonight."
Cara slid out of the car, her body brushing against his as she stood. She was so short her head barely reached his chest. He could have picked her up with one arm and carried her inside. The thought made his cock twitch.
He led her to the elevator, and the moment the doors closed, she was on him.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him down, and her mouth was hot and eager against his. Jay let her have it for a moment, let her think she was in control, then he grabbed her hips and lifted her off the ground. She squeaked against his lips, her legs wrapping around his waist automatically.
"You're so fucking tiny," he muttered against her mouth. "How much do you weigh?"
"A hundred and five," she breathed. "Why?"
"Just making sure I can throw you around without breaking you."
The elevator dinged. Jay carried her down the hall, his lips never leaving hers, and somehow managed to get his key in the lock without dropping her. The door swung open, and he kicked it shut behind them, the lock clicking into place with a finality that made Cara shiver in his arms.
He set her down, but kept his hands on her hips, steering her deeper into the apartment. Past the leather couches, past the gaming setup with its neon glow, past the sketches pinned to the wall—the ones of women in ropes, women in chains, women with their legs spread and their mouths open in silent screams.
Cara's eyes flicked to the drawings, and something dark and hungry passed over her face.
"Those are yours?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"They're good."
"They're practice." Jay stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. It was painted matte black, unmarked, unassuming. "You want to see the real thing?"
Cara swallowed hard. "What's in there?"
"Everything I've ever wanted to do to a girl like you." He pushed the door open. "Last chance to back out."
She stepped through the doorway without hesitation.
---
The play room was Jay's sanctuary. Soundproofed walls. Concrete floor covered in thick black mats. A St. Andrew's cross in one corner, a spanking bench in another. Rows of hooks on the wall, each one holding a different implement—floggers, paddles, crops, ropes, cuffs. A cabinet in the back stocked with lube, condoms, and anything else he might need. The only light came from a single dim bulb overhead, casting everything in shades of amber and shadow.
Cara stood in the center of the room, turning in a slow circle, her breathing shallow.
"Holy shit," she whispered. "You're—this is—"
"A lot." Jay closed the door behind them and leaned against it, crossing his arms. "You can still leave. I won't stop you."
"I don't want to leave." She faced him, and there it was again—that hungry look, the one that said she knew exactly what she was getting into and wanted it anyway. "I want you to use me."
Jay's cock strained against his shorts. "Say that again."
"Use me." Her voice was steadier now. "I've been thinking about this since the first time I saw you. I don't want gentle. I don't want sweet. I want you to fuck me up."
He moved fast. One second he was at the door, the next he had her pinned against the wall, his body caging her in, his hand around her throat—not squeezing, just holding. A warning.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," he said, low and rough. "I don't do soft. I don't do slow. Once we start, I'm not stopping until I'm done with you. You understand?"
Cara nodded, her pupils blown wide. "Yes."
"Words. I need to hear you say it."
"Yes. I understand. I want it."
"Good girl."
He kissed her, hard and bruising, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She moaned, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders, and he let her hold on for exactly three seconds before he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head.
"Rule number one," he said against her lips. "You don't touch me unless I tell you to. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Rule number two. You say 'red' if you need to stop. Anything else, you take it. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Rule number three." He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. "You come when I tell you to. Not before. If you do, I'll punish you. And trust me, you won't like it."
A visible shudder ran through her. "Okay."
"Good." He released her wrists and stepped back. "Strip."
Cara didn't hesitate. She peeled off her sports bra and tossed it aside, then hooked her thumbs into her shorts and shimmied them down her legs. She wasn't wearing underwear. Jay's mouth watered.
She stood before him, naked except for her socks, her body small and perfect—small tits with hard pink nipples, a waist he could almost span with his hands, a smooth, bare pussy that was already glistening.
"Turn around," he commanded. "Slow."
She obeyed, giving him a view of her round little ass, the muscles shifting under smooth skin.
Her obedience sent a fresh surge of blood to his cock, already straining painfully against his shorts. He watched her back muscles flex as she turned, the curve of her spine leading down to the swell of her ass. The socks were a nice touch—something vulnerable about them, childish almost, a contrast to the nakedness above.
"Stop," he said.
She froze mid-turn, facing away from him.
"Stay just like that."
Jay closed the distance between them, his chest pressing against her back, his breath hot against her ear. She trembled but didn't move. His hands found her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he pulled her flush against him so she could feel exactly what she'd done to him through the thin fabric of his shorts.
"You feel that?" He ground against her ass, slow and deliberate. "That's what happens when you walk into my gym in those little shorts and stare at me like you're begging to get fucked."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't lie to me." His grip tightened, hard enough to bruise. "I saw you. Every day for three weeks. You think I didn't notice?"
Cara's breath hitched. "I thought maybe you did."
"I notice everything." He released her hips and stepped back, leaving her swaying on her feet. "Get in the middle of the room. Under the cuffs."
She walked forward on unsteady legs, her head tilting up to look at the chains hanging from the ceiling. They were set at different heights, adjustable, designed to accommodate any position he wanted. Right now they dangled at eye level for her—high enough to stretch her arms overhead, low enough that her feet would stay on the ground.
Barely.
The urge hit him like a freight train. Not just to see her cuffed, not just to see her struggle. He wanted to hear her scream. That raw, animal sound a woman makes when she's pushed past every limit she thought she had. The sound Grace had made in that bedroom, the one that had haunted him for three days straight.
He crossed the room in three strides.
Before Cara could react, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her. She yelped, her socked feet scrambling for purchase as he positioned her beneath the cuffs. He held her there with one arm while his other hand worked the leather straps, securing her wrists above her head. The cuffs clicked shut, and he let go.
Cara's full weight dropped onto her wrists, her body jerking as the restraints caught her. Her toes barely brushed the floor, her socked feet sliding against the smooth black mat as she tried to find stability. She hung there, arms stretched overhead, naked body exposed and vulnerable, breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"Jay—"
"You wanted this." He walked in front of her, slow, letting her watch him. "You said you've been thinking about it since you first saw me. You said you wanted me to use you."
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down, kicking them aside along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed and already leaking, and he watched her eyes widen at the sight of it.
"Still want it?"
"Yes." The word came out breathless. "God, yes."
He stepped closer, close enough that the head of his cock brushed against her stomach. She tried to arch into him, but the cuffs held her in place, a frustrated whimper escaping her throat.
"Look at that," he murmured, reaching down to run his thumb along her jaw. "Little thing like you, all trussed up and desperate. You're dripping down your thighs, you know that?"
She looked down, her cheeks flushing crimson when she saw the slick shine coating her inner thighs. "I can't help it."
"I don't want you to help it." His hand moved from her jaw to her throat, fingers wrapping around her neck. Not squeezing yet, just holding. "I want you to feel everything. Every fucking second of it."
He squeezed.
Cara's eyes went wide, her mouth opening in a silent gasp as the pressure cut off her air. He held it for three seconds, four, watching her face change from panic to something else—that floaty, distant look that came when the brain realized it wasn't in control anymore. Her struggles slowed. Her body went limp in the cuffs.
He released her just before she blacked out.
She sucked in a ragged breath, coughing, tears already gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Holy shit."
"Too much?"
"No." She shook her head frantically. "No, don't stop. Please don't stop."
Jay smiled—not his charming smile, the other one, the one that made girls nervous. He walked to the cabinet and pulled out a folded strip of black fabric. A blindfold.
"You're not going to see anything else," he said, stepping behind her. "Just feel."
He tied the blindfold over her eyes, snug enough that she couldn't peak, and he heard her breathing change. Quicker. Shallower. Her body was wired now, every nerve ending screaming for stimulation, and he hadn't even started.
The cane was on its hook, a thin rattan rod about three feet long. Jay had used it on a girl once before, and she'd cried for an hour afterward. He'd had to stop halfway through because she couldn't take it. But something told him Cara was different. Something told him she'd break beautifully.
He walked back to her, positioning himself behind her, and pressed the tip of the cane against the back of her thigh. She jolted, her whole body tensing.
"What is—"
Before she could finish, he brought the cane down.
The crack echoed through the concrete room. Cara screamed—a short, sharp sound that cut off as her body processed the pain. A bright red line bloomed across her ass, already rising into a welt.
"Soundproof walls," Jay said calmly. "Scream all you want."
He struck again, lower this time, catching the sensitive underside of her cheek where it met her thigh. Her legs buckled, socked feet slipping on the mat, but the cuffs held her up. She screamed again, longer this time, the sound dissolving into a sob.
"Good girl."
He rained blows down on her—across her thighs, her ass, the backs of her knees. Each strike left a fresh welt, angry red against pale skin. Cara's screams turned to sobs, her body twisting and jerking, her feet sliding uselessly against the floor. Mascara-streaked tears ran down her cheeks beneath the blindfold.
He paused when her skin was a latticework of red lines, waiting for her to catch her breath.
"Can you still hear me?" he asked.
"Yes." Her voice was hoarse, broken. "Yes, I'm here."
"You want me to stop?"
A long pause. Her chest heaved, sweat dripping down her stomach, mixing with the tears. "No."
"Good fucking answer."
He circled in front of her, the cane still in his hand, and pressed the tip against her left nipple. She gasped, trying to pull away, but he followed her movement.
"You've never been touched here before, have you?" He traced the cane across to her other breast, dragging it slow and deliberate. "Not like this."
"No."
He struck her breast with the cane, a soft blow but enough to make her cry out. The pink flesh flushed darker, and he did the same to the other side, watching her writhe.
"I'm going to mark every inch of you," he said. "So when you look in the mirror tomorrow, you remember exactly who did this to you."
He aimed lower, bringing the cane down across the fronts of her thighs, then her stomach, soft taps that barely raised welts but made her flinch each time. By the time he was done, her entire front and back were striped with red.
He dropped the cane.
Cara hung in the cuffs, limp and weeping, her breath hitching with every exhale. Jay stepped close and ran his hands over her ravaged skin, feeling the heat of each welt under his palms. She whimpered, but pressed into his touch rather than pulling away.
"You did so good," he murmured against her ear. "So fucking good for me."
He sank to his knees behind her.
His hands found her ass, squeezing the welted flesh, making her cry out. Then he leaned in and dragged his tongue up the crease between her cheeks.
Cara's entire body jolted. "Oh god—"
"Shut up." He didn't lift his mouth from her skin. "I'm not done with you."
He lapped at her asshole, slow and thorough, pressing the flat of his tongue against the tight ring of muscle. She squirmed, making these little helpless sounds that went straight to his cock. Her thighs were shaking, slick with her own arousal, and he could smell her cunt from here—musky and sweet.
"Jay—Jay, I've never—" She broke off with a moan as he pushed his tongue against her entrance. "No one's ever touched me there."
"Good." He pulled back just enough to speak. "I like being first."
His hand slid between her legs, fingers finding her dripping pussy, and he pushed two inside her without warning. She bucked, the cuffs rattling overhead as she tried to spread for him, tried to take him deeper.
"Please," she gasped. "Please, I need—"
He worked his fingers inside her, curling them against that spot that made her vision white out, while his mouth went back to her ass. The combination—the fullness, the taboo sensation, the sting of the welts every time his body brushed against hers—was overwhelming.
Cara came hard, shaking, her whole body convulsing in the cuffs.
But she hadn't asked permission.
Jay yanked his fingers out and stood up, grabbing her ponytail and yanking her head back. "Did I say you could come?"
"I'm sorry—I couldn't—"
"You couldn't?" He spun her around. "You couldn't hold it? After I told you not to?"
Before she could answer, he reached into the cabinet beside them and pulled out two small clamps connected by a chain. They were weighted, heavier than they looked, and the bite of them would be unlike anything she'd ever felt.
He fastened them to her nipples, one then the other, and she arched with a shriek. The weights swung with her movement, pulling the sensitive flesh, and every breath made them sway.
"Please," she sobbed. "Please, it hurts—"
"That's the point." He reached back into the cabinet and produced a small plug, black silicone, tapered but thick at the base.
"And we're not done."
He lubed it up with quick, efficient strokes, then positioned himself behind her again. She was still facing the wall, still cuffed, still blindfolded, and there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
"Breathe," he said.
He pressed the plug against her asshole.
She struggled—trying to twist away, trying to close her legs, but he used his knee to pin her thighs apart. The plug pushed past the first resistance, and she screamed, a raw, guttural sound that echoed off the concrete. He kept pushing, slow and relentless, until it seated itself inside her.
"There." He stepped back, admiring his work—the plug nestled between her cheeks, the clamps swinging from her tits, the welts covering every inch of visible skin. "Now you're ready."
Cara hung there, sobbing, her body wracked with tremors. But she didn't say red. She didn't say stop.
"You've been so fucking good for me," Jay said, running a hand through her sweat-soaked hair. "Think you can take more?"
She nodded, tears dripping off her chin. "Yes. I want more. Please."
And that's when he heard it—the sound he'd been chasing for three days. That raw, desperate edge in her voice, the one that said she'd go anywhere he wanted to take her.