Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
But it’s hard to tell what your butt really looks like in these fluffy pajama pants, I realize, while looking at the full-length mirror that hangs on the door of my closet. Where is that cute bikini I got last week?
Okay, that does it. I want to see how I really look given that I’ve been exercising for ten minutes now. I know it’s ridiculous, but these saggy, threadbare lounge pants are the kind made for comfort, so they literally resemble a parachute. As a result, I move over to the oversized dresser to begin digging through one of the drawers dedicated entirely to bikinis. It’s a bit of an obsession, but I do have to wear a ton of skimpy swimwear at Club Z, what with all the scandalous activities. It’s a part of the job, I rationalize with a smile.
“Oooh!” I squeal as I pull out a tiny two-piece. This bikini was definitely an impulse buy because it’s so scandalous, and that’s saying something for me. But I fiddle with the fabric, hooking the postage-stamped size bits over my nipples, and then tying the strings around my neck and back. Oooh, perfect. My tits are huge and luscious, with really only the nipples covered as the sides and bottoms hang out.
Then comes the thong part. Okay, this is easier. There’s a tiny bit of cloth that’s basically enough to cover my clit, and not a whole lot else. I step into it, making sure my little bulge is hidden beneath the leopard print and then turn around to survey the back. Oh yeah, the string’s buried dirtily between my white cheeks, but unfortunately, my butt’s just not big. In fact, my ten minute workout hasn’t done a thing because instead of a juicy rump bisected by a bit of string, my butt’s the same as usual – average sized and not inspiring.
I head back over to my bed and grab my phone.
“What the hell? I thought there were seven-second workouts these days that are supposed to transform you into He-Man,” I grumble to myself. “What a crock of shit.” But then I land on a site that describes Brazilian butt lifts. It may sound crazy, but women actually get surgery to get bigger behinds. They literally liposuction fat from somewhere else on their body and then get it implanted in their booty! Pure genius, if I say so myself.
But I’m kind of afraid of going under and then not coming out the other side, so I exit out of that and go back to a cartoon drawing of a particularly intensive work-out move. I put my phone on the bed, scrambling up to try this weird squat myself, but I can’t figure out what goes next based on the arrows.
“And so I guess it’s back to YouTube,” I snort again, shaking my head with disgust. I open the app on my phone once more and then perch it against a jewelry box and position myself so that I can see both the video on the dresser and my body in the mirror. I want to keep an eye on my form because these so-called booty-building vids better work.
Upbeat music blasts through my speakers and oddly, it’s not obnoxious. Instead, it’s peppy and upbeat, almost like a dorm-room dance party. I crank up the volume as the instructor starts speaking. Her voice is chipper, but pleasant, and she also doesn’t waste time talking too much.
“All right everyone, let’s build our glutes together! Watch me first, and then we’ll do it together! We’re going to start with deep lunges, ready, 3, 2, 1!”
I follow the instructor’s moves, dropping one leg backward, parallel to the floor, and thrusting the other one forward. “Oh shit,” I groan, astounded by how little my legs can stretch. But at the instructor’s peppy encouragement, I keep going, lunge after lunge. The thong in my ass seems to be rubbing right where it shouldn’t, but I don’t care. No pain, no gain right?
So for the next several minutes, I lose myself in the throb of the music and the cadence of the workout. It kicks my butt at first, and my form is really awkward, but the instructor does a good job pointing out common mistakes while at the same time, pumping up her audience.
“Okay, now it’s time for glute bridges!” I watch as the instructor flashes a smile, and then lies down on the ground. I too pull the phone down to the floor so that it’s braced against the leg of my dresser. Then, I turn my face toward the screen, with my legs and ass pointed in the direction of my bedroom door. I must look ridiculous, but oddly, I’m kind of having fun. This is stupid, for sure, but at least the music’s decent.