Good outline.
Does this phrase not inherently imply a specific, deliberate shape?
One that includes not just the breasts themselves but how they're positioned, how they're presented, how they're held?
And isn't posture—the way a woman carries herself, the angle of her shoulders, the lift of her chin, the arch of her spine—something a Dominant would naturally notice?
Because I think it is.
I think most men see a woman's chest and think, 'Nice tits,' and that's the complete beginning and end of their cognitive process. They don't analyze why they like them, don't break down the specific elements that create the attraction.
Or maybe—if they're slightly more articulate than the average gym bro—they can identify that the upturned point of the nipple is what draws their eye. Something I definitely have, especially in this particular sports bra with its thin, unpadded cups that hide absolutely nothing.
But they're not thinking about posture. About the way good posture creates the foundation for everything else—the lift, the shape, the outline that Ryan specifically commented on.
Which is therealreason aesthetically pleasing breasts exist in the first place, regardless of size or shape.
And Ryan noticed.
I think he's playing it professionally distant.
Not exactly waiting for me to make the first move, he's dropping hints. But heisthe gym owner and I am a client. Like a real client now, because I bought three months of personal training.
And yeah, one could be cynical and say he's complimenting me because he wanted me to buy the three-month training package.
But I'm his only client at the moment.
He doesn't do that any more. He has a whole crew of trainers to manage the personal training.
So what else should I think?
He obviously likes me.
We banter and laugh as he trains me.
And he touches me. Not anything inappropriate—never anything that crosses a professional line—but he's not shy about making contact when he's correcting my form during a lift.
Sometimes the touches linger just a fraction longer than strictly necessary. Sometimes his hand settles on my lower back with a firmness that feels deliberate, intentional. Sometimes his fingers wrap around my wrist to adjust my grip on the barbell,and his thumb brushes against my pulse point in a way that makes me hyperaware of the contact.
It's always appropriate. Always explainable. Always just on the edge of professional distance without ever quite stepping over.
But god, do Iwishhe'd step over that line.
I'm dying—actively, desperately dying—for this man to touch me inappropriately. To let one of those lingering hand placements drift lower. To let his fingers tighten on my hip instead of my shoulder. To look at me like he wants to do something other than correct my deadlift form.
Almost seven months now.
Seven months with no sex.
I've started masturbating again, so that's progress, I guess. That's something. That's movement in a forward direction.
But it's not the same.
Not the same, Scarletta?
Before Caleb, you went years without sex and barely noticed. You were fine with self-touch. You functioned. What's different now?
Right. Yeah. I get that. I understand the logical inconsistency here.
