A Secret Revealed Pt. 06

"Now, extend your leg back and kick..."

Straight and high. Flexing your ass. Oh, this is going to be tough to do, holding it for two seconds, then releasing. My butt is rolling left and right. My one leg is wobbling, not used to the position. But Ken grabs my extended ankle and holds it, keeping me still. His hand is on my inner thigh, just above my knee, squeezing. Touching.

Again, and this time, my balance is better. My legs are split open as Ken pushes my leg high. I look in the mirror, shocked at the image of Ken standing behind me, bent over, as though he is fucking me. I wonder what it would feel like to have him fuck me in this position. I don't doubt he could just slip right into me, my vagina wet and ready for him. Now that would take some serious skill on my part. Practice might make perfect.

Ass spread, kick, insert penis, drop leg. Ass spread, kick, insert penis, drop leg. All of this kicking and my shirt is slipping down my back. Dimples are back in play, and so is my butt crack. The Bermuda triangle. Go head Ken, fly your ship over the area, watch it get lost. Lift my leg up. Make me hold the last one longer. That's it. Keep me balanced, placing your hand on the side of my hip. Your fingers against my exposed midsection. Feeling the softness that is my waist.

"Nice position. Now, the other leg."

Ugh. My legs are killing me. Time to stand up and move them around. And my arms, stretched out in front of me. This is awful. Shake your arms, get them loose, bend your legs, work out the soreness. Look at Ken in the mirror, watching you wiggle around. I've never felt so admired, so longed for, so beautiful. And I'm just a mess. Actually, looking in the mirror, I'm not that frazzled. My hair still looks good. Should I give him a little more tease? Reward him for being such a doting boy? I don't have many poses left.

"Yea...it's getting towards the end, so you are probably getting a bit tired. But, when your sore and tired, you accomplish the most. Let's try and finish..."

Yea. I'm going to try. Going to try my best Ken. But first, let me adjust myself, get ready, stretch to the right, the left, run my hands along my legs, pull the back of my yoga pants down just a bit, nobody's looking, nobody's noticing. Just a friendly hello to you from my bunnies. Let me turn around, back to the mirror, bend over to the down dog position, look between my legs. And...

Perfect. Just the top inch of each cheek. There you go, Ken. A quick thank you. Now, I'm kicking up my leg, towards the mirror, and you get to watch the top of my butt roll from side to side. Again. Kick. Hold. Expose. Kick. Hold. Expose. And now, I see you, coming behind me, moving to hold my leg high, resting your hand on the side of my hip again. Thumb on the very top of my butt. I know you're there, sensing you, but not looking. Now, peaking up, between my legs, between your legs, watching your penis harden as you stare at me. Do I make you hard?

"Great. That's it. You'll feel that tomorrow."

I'll feel it when I get home, that's when I'll feel it. I've been watching you watch me, and I've got quite the image collection in my memory bank that I'll be cycling through. And if Frank is lucky, hubby will have some left overs to work on as well. I've got a feeling bath time will not be enough time to go through all of the images from today.

"Now, you're going to look beautiful in the last pose. If anyone can make it look incredible, it's you."

Oh, what a way to make the client feel good! I will absolutely make it look incredible for you Ken. I will not disappoint. I'm just not able to remember what it is. Was it "D" something, or did it start with "G"....

"The goddess pose for a goddess."

Goddess. Yea. That's right. My favorite from the bunch. It looked so sexy. So Egyptian.

"Spread your legs wide, twist your feet out, arms out, bend the elbows, hands to the sky, and...."

What the fuck. Your penis is folding up into your waste, almost trying to climb out of your pants. Even your balls are now facing me, as though your entire package was waving at me from a cruise ship. "Hi. Here we are. Look at us!" Your thighs are facing me, causing your penis to practically jump for joy at the freedom it now gets to experience.

"...squat low, almost in a siting position. Now, your turn."

Ken is at the back of the mat, once again waiting, watching. Ready for me to make a mockery of some yoga pose and then come to the rescue and help me find my balance. He made it look so easy, just opening up your legs. But, the foot thing is weird. I'm squatting, opening my thighs, wiggling my butt, trying to twist my ankles. Here comes my hero, kneeling behind me, face practically in my ass, pulling my toes and forcing my feet into position. Oh, this pose tingles as my loins are pulled open.

"Yea. The feet are tough, but you need them in position. It really opens up the pose."

It sure does. My inner thighs are now outer thighs. My arms are now bent and pointing up. I'm a leg spread fly on a windshield. That's what I feel like. Ken pushed down on the top of my legs, forcing me into a deeper squat, almost bending my legs at a 90 degree angle. This is not easy, and I know I'm about to fall back, my center of balance unable to find anything remotely close to center. My body is tipping. I'm going to have to move my feet.

Hands on the ass. Oh shit. Ken is propping me up, letting me sit in his hands for posture and support. His fingers bend all of the way to the front, with his little fingers running dangerously close to the center of my crack. I feel the digits push into my bottom, squeezing me, supporting me. A perfectly acceptable action for any yoga instructor and their client. But Ken, fuck, Ken is too warm and attractive to be feeling my butt. The only reason my gynecologist get's to look between my legs is because she is old and fat.

"Stand and squat again. I'll be your chair."

So, he wants me to sit on him. I can't believe this is how he makes a living. Letting his hands be supports for middle age moms. Up. Now, down. Lower, wait for the feeling of his hands. Lower still, almost at a 90 degree bend between your knees and legs. A bit more, now bent low so that your pussy is hanging down and your butt cheeks are folding open. And, there they are, the soft hands waiting for my ass. Ready for it. Waiting.

Ken looks over my shoulder, fingertips poking forward underneath me. We are both looking at myself, arms and legs open wide, butt low, chest thrust forward. Ken is not smiling, but struck with a serious, focussed expression.

"You are a goddess. Seriously. You make this pose beautiful."

His hands are now under my thighs, palms up, fingers wrapping around for a grip. Ken is pulling me open, stretching my loins, watching my crotch as he does it. He is pulling the fabric into me, low on my stomach. I close my eyes, giving him permission. It is a simple action, one he has performed daily on countless woman, I'm sure. It is his job. But, now, he seems to be purposefully dragging my pants. Slipping it to where the wide bush of mine starts to come into view.

He stops, staring at the woman before him. I let him. Desperate for him to just keep going. But, he doesn't. Ken is not going to make a move on a suburban mom during her first yoga class. If at all. What have you been fantasizing about this whole time? He probably stopped on purpose once he saw your pubic hair come into view, not meaning to expose you. He'd have let his hands slip multiple places throughout the session if that was his intention. Everything was a simple close call, easily explained as day in the life of yoga. Just get home so you can get the orgasm out of you that is clouding your vision.

"Wow. Nice job today. I'll have to come up with something a lot more challenging if you come back."

It's done. Open your eyes. Stand up. Let your body relax. The beautiful yoga instructor made everything worth it, even if it was all in your mind. Look him in the eyes. Tell him thank you. Your body is sore, ready to soak, and you need to pump your breasts. Engorged breasts might be a great way to keep people watching you, and you might have been trying to impress your yoga boy, but they are certainly uncomfortable when they are being moved in so many different directions.

"Not too much, I hope. I am already starting to feel sore."

That's right, mention your soreness so you can look in the mirror at the source of your pain. Your bottom, round and well defined in this yoga pants. The center of your butt fabric deeply wedged into your ass, showing the right and left cheek as individual units. Move it from side to side, see if it shrank any during the day. Let Ken stare also, looking at your progress.

"Well, like I said, I'm happy to massage it out. It can be an important part of the workout."

Oh, yes, spare me, again. You've mentioned it twice, and I'm declining again. Your hands do not need to be moving all over my skin. I can do that just fine myself. Who knows what kind of operation your running here, but I'm definitely not having it.

"OK, yeah, I'd like that."

You'd like what!? A massage? Are you out of your mind, woman? You must be, because this is your mind talking, and you are not getting a massage by some yoga guy, no matter how young and handsome he is. You have no idea where his fingers have been, or might go. Definitely not going to happen.

Yea? Well listen mind, this is your body speaking. If I don't get a massage, I'll die. And how many hot young guys are roaming around my neighborhood offering? None. Because the husbands will fucking kill them. I don't see any husbands here. What Frank does not know, will not hurt him. It is just a stupid massage, and I'll be fully clothed.

"Oh. Great. Then, let me grab a couple things and I'll be right back."

Bye, bye Ken's butt, walking out the door. Hello sexy yoga girl, primping in the mirror, getting your hair back into position. Wet your lips, smooth out your eye brows, wipe the beauty back into your eyes. Smile, check your teeth, lick them clean. Your makeup may have faded, but it's not gone yet. The doors opening. Turn away.

"Here is a large towel and robe. Just get comfortable however you want, and then knock."

Yea. What are you going to do now, body? The mind would certainly like to know that. Ken has left and the door is now closed, waiting for you to knock. To prepare. So, how do you plan on preparing?

Shit. OK mind, I wasn't thinking about this. What the hell. I could just leave on my yoga outfit, but that would be about the most middle age woman thing to do in the world. I may as well be my own grandmother if I do that. I am not getting naked, if that's what you're worried about mind. No chance in that. Not under a towel or a robe. So, christ, I guess that leaves two choices. I can just run and never come back. Or.

Alright mind, this is what I'm going to do. I'll wear the robe over my underwear. My bra and panties are more like weapons of mass protection than anything sexy. The Hubble telescope couldn't peer into my galaxy while I was wearing them. And, I'll wear the towel over them as a redundant form of cover.

Body, you are so lost, it's not even funny.

Screw it. Off with the top and thrown, to the wall by my coat. God, it was squeezing my tits. It is actually a relief to get it off. And the bottoms, more like a second skin. Man, my legs can feel the cool air, already enjoying their release. Now, stand in front of the mirror and look. What an unsexy sight. A bra that might double as a nuclear radiation suit, and panties that look more like adult diapers from the back. Just pull down the front of your panties...

Yikes, there is that massive, unkempt bush that kept making an appearance. Smooth it down, brush it. And rub that towel between your legs, into your wet folds, wow, they were wet. I doubt it was all sweat. Dry the small sweat from your legs and stomach, now bra. Lift it up quick and, well, there are some pretty sweaty boobs. Thank the lord he can't see the size of your swollen nipples. He might think you are an alien. Tuck them back into place, wrap yourself up in the towel. Robe on...

There, mind, not so bad. I have wrapped myself up pretty tightly. Time to knock and let him know we are ready. Fuck, the towel untucks as I walk. Just hold it, keep it in place. Tap on the door, wait, and here he comes.

"Alright, you look cozy. Here, let me put this here."

Another large towel, right on our workout mat. Smack in between the mirrors. I guess this is home base. And hello bottle of oil. I didn't think of that, adding another little twist. Perhaps the mind was right about running. Although people in the parking lot might look a little concerned at the lady who looked like she just flew over the cuckoo's nest.

"But...it might be easier without the robe...."

There you go, body. Nice plan. Just cover everything up so he can't give you a massage. That's a brilliant way to get a massage.

Alright, mind, nobody likes a know-it-all.

"Sure. Yea. I don't know what I was thinking."

Just let it fall. Now, instead of tightly wrapped ball of cotton, you look like you just got out of the shower. Wonderful. Just lie down and hide. Close your eyes. Relax. Listen to the bottle open. Hear his hands rubbing the oil between his palms, warming it up.

My feet! Oh, my feet are being touched. No warning that we are starting. Fingers squeezing into my arch, my heel, oh, it feels so good. A wave of warm energy sweeps through my body. The oil makes his fingers slide right into my muscles, my skin.

"You've got beautiful feet..."

My feet. They feel so relaxed as Ken sits with his back to me, kneading them. I peak from under my eyelids, looking down at the moving hands, fingers running between my curled toes. Decorated with fresh polish. Up to my shins, pressing into the calves behind them.

It is pure bliss, feeling the hands of such an Adonis, roaming over me. Not the hands of an out of shape husband, soft and losing his crisp features. Or a gynecologist, medical and uninterested. Your body deserves the careful attention of a beautiful, sexy, strong man of youthful appearance. Even if he did just get done staring at your bottom.

"You have the legs of a goddess..."

A goddess. You. That is what you are. How you should be treated. Pampered, like a Queen, by her servants. Each one more gorgeous than the next. And if that means the towel slips away as his fingers push into your knees, slightly parting your legs, it is perfectly fine. Beauty is meant to be beholden. So what if he beheld my ass.

Your legs are alive with the electric relief that comes from a deep massage after a workout. Ken was so right. I feel so much tension removed from the deep pressure, the blood rushing into my muscles as his fingers release their pressure. Both hands now rubbing my upper right thigh, forcing the towel to gap open around my midsection.

Onto the left thigh, pushing, distorting. Oh, why does it feel so good? My legs want to spread open, let him probe, inside, where I'm warm. Ready. Is he nervous? Scared? I'm practically naked lying beneath him. His hands are so close. Please, Ken, slip inside of my panty line. I just let you look. Now, I want you to touch. Touch your goddess.

Brushing over the sides of my underwear, I can't believe it. He's totally bypassed the one area that is becoming most interested in a massage. The massive chia pet of a crotch must just gross him out. Fuck! I need to start trimming it. His hands are moving the soft tissue in my stomach, fingering my belly button. My body is sagging in disappointment.

The towel falls completely to my side. I'm totally exposed, feeling the cool air rush over my body. I've shown more skin at the beach, but didn't let the closest guy walk up to me and start rubbing oil into my body. But why has he stopped? His hands have paused, his body no longer moving. I open my eyes. What is he doing?

Holy christ, it's my bra. My nursing bra! I bet he's never seen something so horrendously unsexy on a woman. No black lace. No pink flowers. Bulky, heavy fabric rising high over my engorged breasts. As white as my skin. His eye's look like he is seeing an alien walk off of the mother ship. I have to defend myself for such a hideous display.

"It's a nursing bra."

Ken looks at me, dumbfounded. Eyes wide as he realizes the implications of the statement.

"Nursing..."

Look at Ken, admiring them. Almost worshiping them with his surprised stare. Lusting at the mysterious treasures. I've held them out for every man in the mall, nursing my kids. Couples out on romantic dinners, nursing in the restaurant. Husbands stare, wanting them, but they remain off limits while breast feeding children. Yet, with this young man, leaning over me, adoring every part of me, filling me with confidence, beauty, and happiness, they are completely on limits.

"Just unsnap the top..."

You just gave him permission! Asked for a tit massage! That was not on the agenda, body! His hands are trembling. The confidence in his movements is gone. The nervous energy, ready to reveal a never before seen object. Lactating breasts. He unsnaps the top of my left breast, slowly pulling open the material, and shows you just how beautiful you are.

"Oh...Elizabeth...it's unbelievable...it's gorgeous..."

Oh, christ, his hands. They are so warm. So soft on the top of my chest. I can feel my milk letting down, swelling my nipple. The blood vessels are bulging, pumping blood, moving nutrients. His hands are cupping me, feeling the weight, gently squeezing their firmness. My breasts are orgasmic, ready to release.

"Careful...I haven't nursed today..."

Too late. His gentle prodding of your distended three inch nipples has done the damage. A small spray, erupting, but I'm not embarrassed. He's mesmerized, repeating the process, watching the milk stream to the side and down the side of my breasts. He speaks to no-one.

"It's milk..."

He's looking at me. Mouth open. Eyes asking. Begging. Seeking permission. You've never, ever let anyone other than your children taste. Period. You need your husband's respect. Never would you debase yourself with him in such a manner. But a yoga instructor, young, slim, an Adonis. Just tilt your chest slightly. Raise it. Present it to him. Look at your nipple, indicating your willingness.

Ken is leaning in, so close your eyes. Just let it happen. OMG! His lips, surrounding my breast, tongue extended, licking! My milk is letting down. My body tingles. I feel the sprays entering his mouth! Oh, I feel it between my legs. I always do. Push up your chest, hands behind you head, and enjoy the feelings.

His hand is running down your stomach! Oh, god, his touch is so warm. So electric. Moving into your waste-band, searching. It feels so much better letting someone else touch you, feel you while breastfeeding, instead of yourself. I could never let Frank know what I do while nursing. How could he look at me?

Fingers are playing with my bush, feeling the hairs. God, Ken, move lower! Don't toy with me. My body is expecting it. Ready for it. Oh, shit. Your touching the top of my pussy. Pressing into my clit. Thats it, rub it, move your hands, feel how wet you've made me. Have I made you hard? Open your eyes, check.

Elizabeth, look at the erection in his pants. He's raging hard for you, kneeling next to you as he nurses. Run your hand along his hip, feel his tight buns. Oh, slide lower, pushing into the hard outline of is pants. He is so hard. Because of you. He wants you. Let him have you.

The suckling on your breast has stopped. The toying of your pussy has slowed. Ken is leaning back, looking at your bush, pushing down the front of your underwear. Look at you in the mirror, spreading your legs, large bush proudly displayed between your legs. Your wet slit, pink and swollen. Nursing bra open with one tit hanging free, glistening.