Yoga Is Not a Spectator Sport

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Anal

He walks into her house without knocking. She’s been expecting him. It’s an hour and a half drive from Minneapolis to St. Joseph – an uncomfortable hour for him, trying to keep his car on the road while his skin’s getting all hot with anticipation – and they’ve been through this enough times now that she knows roughly when he’ll be there, and when to start her routine so that she’ll be somewhere in the middle of it when he gets there.

Besides, she likes being in advanced state of yoga relaxation when the fucking starts.

So he comes in, and is careful to lock the door behind him. It’s not unheard of, after all, for her students to stop by the house. He walks through the foyer and the dining room. He can hear the music from there. Moving quickly with anticipation, he turns the corner into the living room and stops in the entryway.

She doesn’t acknowledge his entrance. That’s the way they’ve always played it. She’s on a yoga mat a few feet in front of the couch – a coffee table has been pushed aside, with a chilled bottle of Riesling and two glasses on it – curled into child’s pose.

She is naked.

The mechanics of this pose mean that she’s on her knees, leaning forward, with her arms stretched out forward. Her toes stick out from beneath the glorious curvature of her ass, which happily is aligned towards him.

Moving quickly and quietly, he slips his shoes off, and then his pants. His underwear he leaves on, although they’re distended by the straining bulge of his cock. He steps around to the couch and quietly maltepe escort pours himself a glass of wine.

Sipping it, he sits back to watch.

She brings herself out of child’s pose. Ignoring him – or pretending to – she brings herself to her feet and stands in mountain pose, back turned to him.

She is magnificent. At 42, she used to be a runner until the wear and tear on her joints pushed her away from running and into yoga. But she still has a runner’s body. Her thighs and calves are curved with muscle; the fact that her legs are a little short just emphasizes the curve. Her waist is firm, and curves upwards into her ribcage; the swell of her breasts is just visible between her arms and ribs. Her shoulders, usually hidden under two layers of shirt and sweater, are a graceful sculpture. Her short haircut allows the grace to continue to her neck.

Her ass is a set of shockingly perfect mounds.

He gently – gently! – rubs the heel of his hand along the head of his cock through his underwear.

She stands in mountain pose for a moment, and then spreads her arms and steps her legs wide apart, so that she stands with her heels four feet apart. With the faintest wiggle of her ass – she can only go so far in ignoring him – she sweeps her arms forward and bends at her waist to follow them.

So she’s now leaning forward, legs spread, with half of her weight supported by her arms, which are on the floor. Her breasts hang underneath. Her ass is the highest point of her body, hanging mamak escort in front of him at roughly eye level, cheeks spread faintly.

And, for the first time as she’s moved through the poses, her pussy is visible.

Also lightly spread by her posture, her labia hang down underneath the monument of her ass. Her denuded outer lips – she goes back and forth on waxing versus growing out her bush; the current wax was an impulse move 3 days ago upon finding a gray pubic hair – hug a collection of glistening folds.

He sips the wine again and rubs the head of his cock twice. He can’t not moan the second time.

She dips her head for just a second, looking back at him underneath her own body. There’s just a second of eye contact as she smirks at him. And then she looks back up and very slowly, uses her arms to propel herself lightly back and forth, deepening the stretch in her hips.

He can’t take it any more. Her pussy – and her ass – is right in front of him, it’s spread out, and it’s moving. He slides off of the couch onto his knees behind her and, trying not to disturb her pose, puts his lips onto her pussy. She gasps and then regains her composure, resuming her front to back motion. On a backswing that pushes her pussy into his face – and she’s wet, wet as hell, and now his face was covered with it – he puts his tongue in. He alternates between, slow, strong strokes with his tongue, and light, fluttering surface licks.

And now she’s still moving forward and backwards, whimpering a little ankara escort on each backstroke. Her eyes are scrunched with pleasure, although he can’t see it because his whole field of view is dominated by her ass.

Alone and unattended, his cock points more or less straight up. It throbs.

She curls her head down to look back between her legs and sees it. “Fuck me right now,” she breathes. “Right now.”

One last tongue swipe and he stands. Left hand on her ass for contact and to steady her, he uses his right to guide himself into her velvet goldmine.

In, very very slowly.

Out, very very slowly.

She moves against him for a few stokes like this, and then they synch their movements and he speeds up a little. Their pelvises moving backward and forward more or less in unison, his cock is always sliding back and forth inside her a few inches.

Abruptly, the wet slide around his cock tightens as her muscles contract for her explosion. Knowing what she wants, he speeds up slightly and exaggerates his motion so that his backstroke pulls his cock all the way out and each forestroke brings a full entry into her.

OH. OH. OH. She explodes, face contorted. With each cry, she rocks back onto him.

And he explodes. SHIT YES YES. As he comes, he gives her a few light spanks. YES.

They move – weakly – in tandem for a few more strokes, descending noises coming from both of them. He pulls back to disengage. She leans forward to do the same, going down onto her hands and knees and then onto her side on her yoga mat. He moves down next to her (aware, and loving, that they’re making a wet spot on the mat; by now this mat has enough stains like that that she makes a point of never using this one unless she’s home alone), facing her, and takes her into his arms.

“Hi,” he says.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın