Lust Meter System: Conquering Beauties

Yoga room was one of the smaller ones on the ground floor of the house, a space that had been cleared of furniture and fitted with pale wooden flooring and large mirrors along one wall.

Morning light came through the tall windows on the far side, falling in long strips across the floor where two mats were laid out parallel to each other.

"And hold it there," the instructor said, her voice calm and directive, the voice of someone who had learned to make instructions sound like suggestions without losing any of the authority behind them.

She was in her late twenties, her dark hair pulled back tight, wearing fitted grey activewear that moved with her as she demonstrated. "Feel that stretch along your spine. Don’t collapse the lower back, keep it long."

Elena held the position.

She was in a low lunge, her front knee bent at ninety degrees, her back leg extended, both arms reaching forward along the mat, her chest hovering just above the surface.

Black yoga tights she wore showed every line of her body clearly, fitted from waist to ankle, and she held the position with the kind of stillness that came from actual control rather than effort.

"Good," the instructor said, walking around to look at her alignment. "Now rotate the hip forward. Forward. There." She watched Elena make the adjustment and something changed in her expression, moving from professional assessment toward genuine interest. "You’ve been practicing," she said. "More than usual."

Elena looked at the mirror across the room, her expression composed and forward-facing.

"You could say that," she said.

She thought about the museum room. The chair.

The lake house balcony. The wide bed upstairs. She thought about all of the positions that she did having sex with Liam that had not technically been yoga but had apparently been doing something for her flexibility regardless.

"Whatever you’re doing," the instructor said, "keep doing it. Your hip flexibility has improved significantly since last month."

"I will," Elena said.

"Alright, let’s try a standing forward fold next." Instructor stepped to the front of her mat and folded from the hips, spine rounding one vertebra at a time, fingertips dropping toward her feet. "Same idea. Let it lengthen, don’t force it."

Elena straightened out of the lunge and folded forward beside her, tights pulling tight across the backs of her thighs, fingertips grazing the mat.

"Good," the instructor said, pressing two fingers lightly between her shoulder blades. "Let it release."

Elena let it release, breathing into the stretch.

"One more before we go to the floor," the instructor said. "Wide-legged squat. Feet turned out, hips low, elbows against the inner knees."

Elena widened her stance and dropped into it, hips sinking low between her heels, elbows braced against her knees. Instructor adjusted the angle of her ankles and stepped back to check the line.

"There," the instructor said. "Hold that."

"Alright, let’s try the next one." Instructor moved to her own mat and dropped into a position that started on all fours and then extended, her chest going down to the floor while her hips stayed elevated, both arms stretched forward, the specific posture of a cat pressing itself flat against a warm surface. "This one opens the thoracic spine. Come down into it and let the chest really release to the floor."

Elena moved into it.

Her chest pressed flat against the mat, her arms extending forward, her hips elevated behind her.

In the black tights the shape of her from behind was unmistakably present, the fabric following every contour, and the position emphasized all of it.

They held it in the quiet of the room, the instructor watching the mirror, making small corrections.

Door opened.

Both of them heard it. Elena didn’t move. Instructor looked up toward the doorway.

Odessa stood in the frame. "Madam," she said, addressing the room in the direction of Elena’s voice. "Your visitor has arrived."

"Send him in," Elena said, from her position on the mat.

"Of course." Odessa pulled the door to and her footsteps moved away down the corridor.

One minute passed in the quiet of the room, the instructor making a small note in her phone, Elena still in the position, looking at the wall ahead.

Then footsteps.

Liam came through the door.

He stopped.

Elena was directly in front of him, chest flat on the mat, arms stretched forward, hips elevated, the black tights doing the full amount of work they were capable of doing.

Fabric pulled close across the curve of her ass and between her legs and from where Liam was standing the outline of her pussy was specific and clear and he read the whole picture in about half a second.

His face did something.

He controlled it immediately and started walking toward them slowly but the half second had happened and there was nothing to be done about it.

"Teacher can go," Elena said, still not moving from the position, her eyes now on Liam approaching.

Instructor looked between them. "Of course." She was already reaching for her bag, rolling her mat with the practiced speed of someone who had developed an instinct for when a room was about to become a different kind of room.

Elena stood up.

She crossed to Liam and looked at him, taking in the clothes, the way he was carrying himself, the expression on his face that was still recovering from the doorway.

"You look nice," she said.

"Thank you," he said. He looked at the space, at the mats, at the mirrors. "I didn’t know you did this kind of thing."

"I’m not just all sex," she said, and said it in the completely casual tone of someone stating a basic fact about themselves.

"I know," he said. "Sorry."

"Make sure you keep practicing," the instructor said from near the door, addressing Elena as she gathered the last of her things. "Seriously, whatever you’ve been doing has been working."

Elena looked at Liam while responding to the instructor. "I will," she said. "Thank you for coming."

Door closed.

Liam was looking at her.

She looked back at him. "Alright," she said, "let me go change and then I’ll show you why I called you over here." She turned toward the door.

His hand closed around her wrist.

She stopped.

She turned back and looked at his hand on her wrist and then at his face.

"I want to do it in that position," he said. "The one you were just in."

She looked at him.

Then she smiled, slow and knowing, the smile of someone who had not been surprised but was choosing to be amused. "Business can wait," she said.

"Yeah," he said.

She turned back to the mat and went down into it again, chest flat on the floor, arms extended forward, hips elevated behind her, the black tights pulling tight across everything.

Liam knelt behind her.

He reached forward and took the waistband of the tights in both hands and dragged them down slowly, fabric peeling away from her skin, and then she was there, fully visible, and he looked at what was in front of him.

"I thought you said you weren’t just all sex," he said.

She was already wet. Visibly, clearly, the kind of wet that announced itself without any ambiguity.

"I’m not," she said.

"You’re dripping," he said.

"I know," she said. Her voice was composed but only technically. "It started when you walked in. I was going to handle it in the bath."

He pressed two fingers against her slowly.

"Oh," she said. Word came out at a different volume from the ones before it.

He worked them in.

"I can handle it for you," he said.

"I said," she started, and then he curled his fingers and the sentence dissolved. "Oh god."

He kept going, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm, his other hand pressing flat on the small of her back, keeping the position. She stayed exactly where she was, chest on the mat, arms stretched forward, hips elevated, the position holding because she was holding it even while everything happening behind her was making that considerably more difficult.

"You’ve never been shy about this before," he said, his fingers still moving. "Why now?"

"I’m not shy," she said, her voice coming out in pieces around the sounds she was making. "I just thought you were being serious about something for once."

"I’m always serious about this," he said.

Two fingers became a more specific kind of pressure and she made a sound that went out into the yoga room and hit the mirrors.

"Oh," she said. "Oh god. Liam."

"Yeah," he said.

He kept going, feeling her respond to every adjustment he made, her hips moving back against his hand slightly without her deciding to move them, her sounds coming freely into the quiet of the room, her arms still stretched forward on the mat, the position somehow maintained through everything.

"I thought about this for a while," he said, still working, his voice completely even. "Whether I’d ever get you in a position like this."

She turned her head slightly and looked back at him over her shoulder with an expression that had completely abandoned composure.

"You’re insufferable," she said. Then she made another sound as his thumb found the right place. "Oh. Oh god."

He leaned forward.

He pressed his mouth against her.

She made a sound that had no words in it at all.

He worked slowly, his tongue finding what his fingers had already located, pressing flat and then specific, learning the geography of her reaction and committing to it. His hands spread across her hips, holding her steady, keeping the position exactly where it was while everything his mouth was doing tried to convince her body to abandon it.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh Liam."

He kept going.

Her arms pressed harder into the mat ahead of her, her fingers spreading against the pale wooden floor, finding purchase, holding on. Her sounds built with the rhythm he had set, each one arriving before she could decide whether to let it out, her hips pressing back against his face despite the hand holding them steady.

"Mm," she said. "Oh god. Oh. Right there."

He stayed right there.

Her whole body was working against the position now, everything in her wanting to move and the position requiring she stay still, and the tension of that was producing something in the sounds she was making that was different from any other context.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Oh I’m going to. Oh god."

He pressed his tongue harder against the specific point and felt everything build under his hands, her thighs beginning to shake on either side of him, her arms going rigid against the mat.

She came.

Her whole body locking, a long sound leaving her into the yoga room that the mirrors heard and kept to themselves, her hips pressing hard against his face through every wave of it, her arms still somehow forward, still somehow extended, the position holding by the thinnest thread of muscle memory until the last wave passed and she collapsed forward completely, her hips dropping to the mat, her whole body flat and still and breathing hard.

Liam sat back on his heels and looked at her lying there.

Yoga mat. Pale wooden floor. Morning light through the tall windows.

He looked at the mirrors.

"Still not just all sex?" he said.

She turned her face sideways against the mat and looked at him with one eye. "Shut up," she said. Her voice was completely wrecked.

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