Your trainer, Hunter, was a 24 year old cocky bro with a deep voice and a swagger in his walk. Every day he would watch you with disinterest as you struggled through basic exercises while you tried to get your fitness back on track. You thought you needed a trainer to help you stay motivated, but he barely paid you any attention.
Today, though he seemed more in the mood to talk. He was asking you what you did for a living, and when you told him that you worked as a fundraising director for a small nonprofit. He asked you directly how much that paid. You figured he was interested in exploring his career options, so you were honest and you told him $125,000.
He laughed and pulled out his phone, tapped a few buttons and showed you how much was sitting in his Stash account. He had over $300,000 there. He swiped over to his Venmo, which had $2500. “That’s what I made just yesterday,” he bragged. “Faggots will buy anything from me. I sold underwear, socks, running shorts, used sneakers… one dude, even asked me to jizz in a condom and send it to him.”
Seeing the incredulous look on your face, he went on. “One guy paid for a private zoom call with me. $750 for an hour. He wanted me to wear a MAGA hat and tell him how pathetic I thought he was. He went fucking feral when I turned the hat around, pulled my shirt off, called him a faggot, and flexed my arms. I ordered him to vote for Trump in the election, and I think that sent him over the edge. He started breathing really heavy and jizzed all over his fat gut.”
“Shit,” you said, stunned and but confused. “$750 for an hour? So how much do you make in a month?”
“Between Only Fans and selling shit, this job, and doing private chats, like 50k,” he shrugged. “For like the last couple years.”
“Wait. So you’ve made over a million dollars?”
“Yeah dude. I’m not trying to spend the next 40 years of my life slaving away like a pathetic loser like you at some stupid job when every sissy fag out there is willing to pay up just to look at me,” he said with a laugh.
The insult hurt, and it must’ve shown on your face because he put a hand on your shoulder and looked you right in the eye. “How does it make you feel to know that somebody half your age is three times as rich as you’ll ever be?”
“I… I mean…”
“Listen, I see the way you look at me every day when you’re in here. I respect that you’re putting in the work, but you’re a weak fucking loser to get this fat and sad in the first place. And loser faggots need to pay the tax. So we are finishing up here and you’re going to go into the locker room with me and you’re gonna give me all the money in your wallet and then you’re going to send me more. And in return I’m gonna give you this shirt. Now thank me for letting you give me money.” he said this so confidently and so directly. He knew exactly how much power he had and how little you had.
“Thank you,” you said hesitantly.
“Sir,” he said with a hint of warning in his voice. “Learn some respect.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Now let’s go get my money.”
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