The Vault of Hercules

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“You know, Nina, whoever created tight jeans had your ass in mind,” the grinning, red-haired trainer said to Dr. Gould. “If I may be so bold.”

“You may not,” she bit back, although there was plenty of appreciative humor in her tone.

Two young wrestlers smiled like fools from behind their coach, no more than twenty years of age and clearly not accustomed to such a forceful lass occupying such a delectable body. Coach Weland had told them in confidence that she was old enough to be their mother — just — only lending more to her appeal. Her dark eyes flashed rapidly into the glares of the young men, rendering them instantly impotent from her intimidation. With bowed heads they sauntered towards the changing rooms without looking back.

“I see you still have that… that thing… you do,” Coach Weland chuckled.

“What thing is that?” Nina asked as she grabbed her towel from the bench where she had just completed her last forced reps.

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