Namaste Yoga Pt. 05

Charlie had been with Jacob for her entire career after college. She had met him as a student in his yoga studio while she herself was still in school, he a recently transplanted Brit. She was just one of several young people in the practice at the time. It was her first experience with yoga and it was exhilarating, relaxing and put her in the best shape she'd ever been.

Though born in England, Jacob was of Indian descent, with that wonderfully clipped British accent that seemed to attract every young woman (at least as far as she could tell) to flirt with him. His gracious manner suggested a "proper" upbringing; he never dated his students (again at least as far as she could tell). If anything, he appeared stand-offish, and if he ever noticed the attention, he never let on.

So she was more than surprised when, at the end of one their sessions, he accepted her invitation to get a drink. She took her shower at the studio instead of going home as usual and noted with some amusement the arousal of the women in the locker room. She didn't know what it was that made her feel they were hot and bothered; but she was certain the glassy eyed stares weren't just left over from shavasana dreams.

They went to the local bar, took a seat in back and ordered drinks. She was a little surprised he even drank alcohol and said as much. He smiled and suggested his English up-bringing might have corrupted him a bit. She looked carefully into his eyes to see if there was more than one meaning and thought she caught a mischievous glint.

With her second cocktail she found the courage to mention that his talent in the sessions seemed to go way beyond the usual guided meditation. When she shared her observations about the reaction his sessions were having on the women, he was completely surprised. To him, there were no differences between when they came in and when they left except for the normal sense of relaxation he had hoped to impart. Besides, he had countered, none of the men seemed to be affected, did they?

Charlie couldn't speak for the men; she just knew what effect he was having on the women, including her, although she kept quiet on that point. From his look, though, she assumed he had put it all together. Still, he didn't need to know the dirty details: after almost every session, she'd head straight back to her apartment, take a long shower and use one of her toys to get relief.

She was a shy reserved young woman when she left home for college and in spite of her natural beauty, hadn't found the time or the desire to date anyone steady. Aside from the yoga practice, she had few extra-curricular activities; she was hell bent on getting her degree and moving on. That wasn't to say men weren't constantly asking her out. She had grown to hate it: they didn't even know why they were doing it. When she was younger, and had semi-close girl-friends, they'd compare notes. Maybe it's your neck, they'd say, and she'd laugh. Her neck?! But she'd heard it enough from boys and girls that she just accepted it. Or maybe it was the color of her skin: a crème-in-coffee bronze brown inherited from her Brazilian mother. Or perhaps it was just being almost dead center in a societal norm for beauty: not so thin, not so fat, her "goldilocks" breasts, not too much, not too little. Long legs, long neck and a face that could start a war.

But the whole thing pissed her off and she decided to focus on her studies where she could be measured for what she did, not some stupid superficial (and fickle!) measuring stick.

Of course, a Bachelor's in Sociology wasn't going to do much for her, she realized. If she wanted to go into teaching professionally, she'd have to get a PhD, and if she wanted to go into business, a Master's. She couldn't face the prospect, at that point at least, of spending another two years in school with another $50,000 in debt.

But she knew she had a talent of her own, obviously one that Jacob lacked: a keen sense of people. She could read them easier than some of the textbooks she'd had to plow through. It was one of the reasons she'd been so comfortable in the "soft" sciences. Now, sitting with her yogi, having cocktails at a bar, she began to formulate a plan.

"Listen, Jacob," she looked up from fingering the rim of her glass. "I just had a thought. You really don't see your effect on women, hmm?"

He shook his head, staring at her with those gorgeous brown eyes. She looked away into her near-empty glass.

"Do you make enough money running the studio? I mean, I just did a quick calculation and it can't be enough to pay your bills, right?" She had assumed he was living off a trust fund, 'cause the numbers weren't adding up.

"My, you are getting personal now." He smiled but didn't seem offended. "Yes, you're spot on, I don't make enough to make ends meet. I've been living off some savings to supplement my income." Now it was his turn to look away. "I really don't want to live in the area my income would have me afford."

"Right. Well, it occurred to me just now that maybe you aren't really running the yoga practice quite up to its potential." And she proceeded to lay out the sketch of a business plan that, while insane and possibly illegal, was probably ten times more lucrative than his current way of doing things.

She watched him for any sign of disgust, disinterest or even lechery but wasn't prepared for his business-like acceptance of her suggestion of private, naked lessons. She ordered another drink and a hamburger, then, embarrassed asked if he minded.

"Of course not. My being a vegetarian has no bearing on what you choose to eat."

After the third round, her notebook pages filled with ideas, numbers and scenarios, the food and drink took their toll. She had initially thought she would go to bed with him that night, then shied away from the idea, and now, after expending so much energy working through this new venture, felt deflated. She yawned and looked for the waiter to get the check.

"It's okay," he interrupted. "I'll get the check. You look exhausted. Do you need a lift home or?" He wasn't sure if she had brought her car or not, but realized leaving the question open-ended might send the wrong message. He knew there was no making up for it and looked at her quietly.

"Uh, what? Wow, thanks. I mean for the check. A lift?" She thought quickly about her earlier ideas, measured her fatigue, balanced all of that against riding the bus and realized a lift home would be really appreciated. She said as much.

"Fine, then. I'll settle this and meet you at the door." He got up with her, always the gentleman, and she collected her things while he attended to the bill at the cash register.

Settled in the car, he turned to her. "So, you say the women are hot and bothered by my guidance, eh? It's so unnerving to hear you say that...and that I've failed to notice it. What do you suppose they do about it?"

It was clear he was curious about what she did about it, and she was relaxed enough to consider giving him a clue. What the hell, we're going to be partners very soon.

"Well, I suspect if they have boyfriends, they call 'em up as quick as possible and take em for a ride."

"And you? Do you have a boyfriend?"

She blushed in spite of her attempts at being off-hand. "Nope. No time." She left the obvious question unanswered.

"So. What do you do about it?"

His manner was direct and innocent. She looked over at him quickly to see if there was any other intention in his comment or whether he was simply following through in the conversation. It was too dark in the car to tell, but shit, of course he wanted her to tell him. Her blood-alcohol threw caution to the wind—if she didn't do him tonight, it was inevitable anyway.

"Mmmm. I usually go home, take a hot shower and masturbate." She said it matter-of-factly, almost as if she were reporting on the behaviors of some exotic Pacific Islanders.

"Ahhh. How unfortunate...I mean, it seems such a waste for a beautiful woman to climax by herself." His tone sounded wistful; he wasn't leering.

"I suppose. But I really don't have time for a relationship, and my toys don't ask much of me." She giggled a little.

"Perhaps after our next session, you could help me better understand the effect I'm having?" He turned to look at her with an inquiring smile, mostly business, but clearly suggestive this time.

"Perhaps. Perhaps in the spirit of business research it would be a good idea." She smiled back and felt a small twinge of excitement at the idea.

*-*-*-*

At the end of the next session, she waited for all of the others to leave, sitting on her mat. The room had no windows into the hall and the windows to the outside were up near the ceiling. She had paid close attention to whatever might be going on during the session, but she couldn't determine why she became aroused within a few minutes. Now, sweating slightly, she felt some anxiety beginning to fill in where complete relaxation had just been. Some sessions he ended with shevasana, others with something more energetic. She suspected this session had ended with a shoulder stand in anticipation of the private to come.

"Hi Charlie." He re-entered the room, closing and, she noted, locking the door behind her. "Do you want to try this out?" He hadn't changed out of his cotton tunic, its hem flowing around his calves.

"Let's go for it. What should I do?"

"Well, I suppose the first thing is for you to take off your clothes, yes?"

She stood and faced him, contemplating whether to striptease or simply get undressed. She decided to play it straight and pulled up her shirt, followed by her sport bra letting her breasts spring out. Looking at him directly, she peeled her shorts and panties down, kicking them aside. She watched his eyes carefully, noting with satisfaction as they dilated when he scanned her body.

"Since we've just completed a full session, let's do something restorative and more meditative." He changed the music on the CD to a low thrumming sound, the bass reverberating gently through her belly.

As he led her through a sequence of stretching routines, he gradually approached her, adjusting her position and suggesting ways to move more deeply into the positions. At one point, his hands pushed against her shoulders gently, rolling down her naked back and then back up. She could feel her juices flowing and thought he must have been able to smell her arousal.

"There is a form of Yoga that emphasizes your vulnerability. It's relaxing as well. Are you up to the notion?" He had come around to face her, his eyes searching her face.

"Sure. It sounds great." Her earlier anxiety had vanished, and she felt complete abandon. He could ask her to do almost anything; whatever it was she was certain she'd do it.

He had her kneeling in Hero's pose, opening her knees as wide as she could manage. Her dark triangle of hair thinned toward her entrance, her lips a brushstroke of pink darkening to purple. She knew they were thick, and as she opened her knees could feel the air evaporating her juices. She didn't dare look down, closing her eyes.

She felt the air currents as he approached her, and then his smell: a musky sweat combined with some kind of spice...cinnamon? He guided her to deep breathing, having her focus on her 2^nd Chakra, her thickening lips and flow.

"That's right, Charlie," he said softly, inches in front of her. "You want that energy to flow out of your center. Breathe in and take the breath from above, breathe out and move your sexual tension out of your yoni. Let the Goddess Shakti be your guide..."

She barely suppressed a giggle, but let him take her on a journey, feeling her sexual energy flowing from the top of her head, down her spine, to find its way back out, hot, liquid and earthy.

"Slowly," he said quietly, "gently, drift into Puppy-dog." He waited as she uncurled her feet and legs, and eyes still closed, undulated until her elbows were extended, her under-arms wide open and her forehead was against the mat, her butt-cheeks turned up, her knees flat against the mat.

"Yes," he moved his fingers along the stretched skin of her cheeks, just below her waist. She murmured—as much of a moan as she could manage—and rotated her ass further up, exposing herself to him. He pushed gently between her shoulder blades and she arched down as much as she felt safe doing, feeling her nipples begin to press into the mat.

"Breathe in again, but this time," he paused, letting his fingers drift up from her waist to her ass crack. "Breathe in through your yoni and out through your mouth."

She had no idea what he was saying, but visualized the Goddess breathing into her pussy, pushing air up inside her as she inhaled and pausing momentarily, exhaled it onto the mat. With each inhalation, she pushed her vagina open wider, feeling her leaves and lips unsticking, knowing he could see the string of her juices stretching and snapping. She felt more liquid bubbling up, her arousal growing with each breath.

And then she couldn't stop her moans as she felt the heat of his finger approach her open slit. She couldn't see his hand, except in her mind's eye, imagining it moving just an inch away from her thighs and ass cheeks, his middle finger extended, running just above her opening. She could feel the heat radiating off of it, reflecting against her exposed skin. She pushed out, hoping to touch it, and then she felt him lightly stroking her sheath, pushing slightly against her, forcing another moan.

"Release the tension," he whispered behind her head, "I can feel the wave..."

And that wave crested and broke, forcing her to press her breasts harder into the mat. She cried out as she felt her fluids practically spraying out of her, dribbling down the insides of her thighs. She sobbed at the intensity of her climax, now tears flowing down her cheeks.

"Remember to breathe," he guided her. "You've just started..."

She smiled at the overwhelming sense of joy, of hearing his voice, and at the image of green that flooded her mind's eye. Dollars. A lot of them.

And then he mounted her. It was the only words she could find to describe it. Pushed open, a supplicant, her head against the mat, her...cunt...because that's what it was, spread wide and dripping, she was a bitch in heat. She felt his cockhead pushing against her moist interior, hot, smooth. She wriggled against it.

"Breath of fire," he whispered into her ear, holding his cock still against her.

She inhaled deeply and began to push it out in sharp bursts with just her diaphragm. With each exhale, she grunted slightly, not just from the breath, but from his cock slowly pushing into her. Five breaths out and he was only a small way in.

"Again," he urged quietly.

And again his cock pushed into her, filling her, until he had bottomed out and she was impaled on it. It was smaller than her largest toy, but she'd never pushed that thing as far into herself as he had gone. She groaned as he dragged his head against her g-spot.

"Again."

She inhaled and pushed the breath back out in quick bursts, his cock moving in and out in double time to her breath. It was almost too much: he was so huge and had his head pushed just so against her.

When his fingers slid down to the creases between her pussy lips and the inside of her thighs she lost it, exhaling in a whoosh and feeling the next wave cresting. She felt lightheaded, inhaling deeply to overcome it, and his fingers worked her lips against his shaft; they were spread so open and pressed so thin.

And then it crashed through her, crying out on her next exhale as she climaxed. Again the image of hard cold cash flooded her, even as her pussy flooded his cock. Slick with her juices, he slid easily in and out, the air cool against her exposed channel then filled again with his thickness. He moved with her breath, slowly, firmly and without urgency, until she had calmed down, and then he pulled out, leaving her empty.

She relaxed her shoulders and slowly crumpled to the mat, rolling to the side and curling her knees against her breasts, mewling. Eventually, after the rolling waves subsided, she opened her eyes to see him on his knees at the end of the mat, his cock still stiff and proud, glistening from her. She looked up to see him smiling softly, his eyes studying her.

"Did you learn anything?" He stood, his balls tight, his cock like a small bat.

"Don't you ever cum?" She asked softly, giggling, still immersed in her orgasms.

He smiled and knelt next to her. "It's an art form. I can teach it to you if you like." His fingers pressed into her neck, shoulders and spine and she rode the sparks and pulses.

*-*-*-*

"I'm mostly making this up, you understand?" Charlie sat in his office, pointing to a chart she'd drawn on a scratch pad. "But it's based on some frameworks I learned last semester. There are a ton of possible variables, but I think these two are really all we need...and it keeps things much simpler."

She put the chart in front of him. "It's a two by two chart, right? The vertical dimension is Public to Private, the horizontal Dominant to Submissive. So, for example, Helen," she paused looking at him and waiting for him to catch up, "the blond? Right. She is clearly a Private/Dominant. And Bonnie, that busty divorcee? Absolutely a Public Submissive. Don't you see?"

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, eventually nodding. "Okay, if I get this right, then would you say Caroline is a Private Submissive?"

She didn't pause for a heartbeat. "Yes! Exactly. Okay, so let's say we label these cells Types 1 through 4: PuDo=1, PuSu=2, PrDo=3, PrSu=4.

Dominant Submissive

Public 1 2

Private 3 4

Now we can go through your roster and identify who falls into which cell, right?"

He looked up at her, his brown eyes drawing her in. She felt herself get wet just looking at him.

"But more important, let's brainstorm a little on how you would approach each of these types during the session. I'll give some thought to the screening questions we can ask to best predict where a person would fit."

"But Charlie," he paused, glancing between her face and the chart, "to what end? Why do I care how to treat these people or even treat them differently based on some square they fall into?"

She smiled thinly. An artist rarely understands how to monetize their work. That's why there'll always be a place for people like me. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, tilting his face to look up at her. "Because Yogi Jacob, you don't want to live in the area your current income can afford. Knowing how each private needs to be addressed will make the difference between $30/hr and $300."

She had already recommended he watch Hysteria. It was basically the blueprint for his new business, without the medical mumbo-jumbo. In spite of a century of cultural progress, there were still plenty of women crying out (silently) for release, as was obvious from their arousal after a normal class.

They spent several minutes working each cell, discussing what a PuDo (Type 1) would expect and get off on. As it turned out, and Charlie was a little surprised to discover, Jacob had quite a repertoire of yoga positions appropriate to the different types.

And then, of course, it was her turn to figure out how to get the new offerings marketed. Here again, she reviewed the types and thought about the words and triggers each would respond to. She had a graphic artist friend who could help with the brochures.

"I don't think we should put anything up on the web, yet. Let's start slow and by invitation only. Anyone in particular you think we should approach first?"