Private Session
"She's the yoga instructor his doctor recommended—thick, flexible, and old enough to know exactly what her body can do. When she offers him private lessons to work on his 'alignment,' he discovers positions not found in any textbook."
Dr. Patel said yoga would help my back.
"Find a good instructor," she said. "Someone patient. You're very inflexible."
She wasn't wrong. Years at a desk had turned my spine into concrete.
So I found Sage.
Her studio was in a converted church—high ceilings, natural light, the smell of incense. I arrived for my first class ten minutes early.
She was stretching in the corner.
I stopped in the doorway.
Sage was maybe fifty. Silver-streaked hair in a long braid. Tan skin, smile lines, eyes that sparkled with something private.
And a body that didn't make sense for a yoga instructor.
She was thick. Heavy breasts straining her sports bra. Wide hips in yoga pants that left nothing to the imagination. A round ass that made every pose look obscene.
But she was also flexible. Impossibly so. She was in a full split, leaning forward, her chest touching the ground.
"You must be Tyler." She rose smoothly, walked toward me. "Dr. Patel called ahead. Said you needed help."
"I'm pretty hopeless."
"There's no such thing." She took my hand. Her grip was warm, strong. "Let's see what we're working with."
The group class was humbling.
Fifty-year-olds bent into pretzels while I struggled to touch my toes. Sage circled the room, adjusting postures, offering encouragement.
When she reached me, she pressed her hand flat on my lower back.
"Breathe into the tension," she said, leaning close. Her breasts brushed my shoulder. "Let it go."
I tried to focus on breathing.
I failed.
After class, she stopped me.
"You need private sessions."
"Is it that bad?"
"It's that tight." She smiled. "Your body is holding years of stress. We need to release it. One-on-one, I can give you proper attention."
"When can we start?"
"Tomorrow evening? After the studio closes?"
"That works."
"Good." Her hand lingered on my arm. "Wear something comfortable. We're going to be close."
The studio was empty at 7 PM.
Just me, Sage, and two yoga mats side by side. She'd dimmed the lights, lit candles. Soft music played.
"We're going to start with hip openers," she said. "Your hips are where you store trauma. Emotional, physical—it all lives there."
"Sounds intense."
"It can be." She positioned me in a lunge. Pressed her hands on my hips. "Breathe. Sink deeper."
I tried. My muscles screamed.
"You're resisting." She moved closer. Her body behind mine. Her breasts against my back. "Stop fighting. Let me in."
I exhaled. Sank deeper.
"Good," she breathed. "That's good."
Week three, she introduced partner stretches.
"This one requires trust," she said, positioning me on my back. "I'm going to push your leg toward your chest. You're going to let me."
She straddled my other leg. Her crotch pressed against my thigh. She took my leg in her hands and pushed.
I groaned.
"Pain or pleasure?"
"Both."
"They're often the same." She pushed harder. Her body leaned over mine. "The body doesn't distinguish. It just feels."
"Sage—"
"Shh." She released my leg. Moved to the other side. Straddled the opposite thigh. "Let the feelings happen. Don't judge them."
She pushed. I felt everything.
Week five, I was hard the entire session.
She didn't mention it. She also didn't avoid it. When she positioned me in stretches, her hand brushed my cock. When she demonstrated poses, she pressed her ass against me.
"Your alignment is improving," she said at the end.
"Is that what we're calling it?"
She smiled. Knowing. "What would you call it?"
"Torture."
"Good torture or bad torture?"
"The best kind."
She stepped closer. Her hand came to rest on my chest.
"I have one more stretch to show you."
"Does it have a name?"
"Several." She kissed me. "But none of them are in Sanskrit."
We fucked on the yoga mats.
Her thick body moved in ways I didn't know were possible. She wrapped her legs behind her head while I thrust into her. She bent backward until her hands touched the floor while riding me.
"Yes—" She moaned, her body impossibly contorted. "This is the release you needed—"
I grabbed her hips and drove into her. She came screaming, her body shaking through the pose.
When I finished inside her, she unwound slowly, deliberately.
"How's your back?" she asked.
"I can't feel it."
"That's progress." She pulled me down for another kiss. "Same time next week?"
We've been having private sessions for six months.
My flexibility has improved dramatically. So has my stamina.
Dr. Patel is thrilled with my progress. "Whatever you're doing, keep it up."
I plan to.
Every Thursday evening. After the studio closes.
Sage and I practice poses nobody teaches.
Namaste.