Page 16 of Bewitch

“Now what?”

“Stay there.”

“Just stay like this?” I ask, aghast. It’s already terrible.

“Yep. Don’t move. A wall squat. Forces you to have good form.”

“Look at my legs!”

“Yeah. Jell-O, huh?”

“Yeah, they’re quivering all right,” I admit. “I can’t.”

“Do it,” he snaps.

“Fucking drill sergeant.”

“Damn straight.”

“I hate you.”

“Good.”

I want to keep fighting with him verbally, but I gasp instead, crying out, whimpering. This shit hurts.

“Longer,” he tries to say, but I can’t. I can’t even straighten. I just slump to the floor.

I’m so done.

“Get up,” he says. “You’re a lady, right? When you don’t use that potty mouth of yours at least. One more leg move before we move on.”

“What? I can’t—”

“Can’t for quitters. You quitting on me, Fattie?”

I’m boiling. Dawn the Fattie is what I was known as in grade school. I can still hear those taunts even now.

“Let’s go. Curtsey lunges.” He demonstrates the move. I guess I can understand where the name comes from.

But it’s not an easy move, even without weights. I almost fall over the first few times, and then I’m tripped up all over again when I have to switch legs, but eventually, I get into some kind of a rhythm, and I’m feeling pretty good.

Until I realize he’s shaking his head.

“What am I doing wrong?” I ask, wiping sweat off my forehead.

“You aren’t going nearly low enough.”

I groan.

“The lower you go, the harder he’ll want to thrust within you,” he says.

I blink a few times.

“Or the deeper she’ll fist—”

“I’m into guys,” I say in a rush. My face has to be ruby red already from the workout, but if not, it sure as hell is beet red now from my blushing.

“Well, then. Get it. You want some big dick?”

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