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“Whaddya got going on today, Erik?”

I look up with sleepy eyes. Steam rises from my coffee, teasing my face with its rich heat. I yawn. “You’re looking at it.”

“I’m doing yoga,” Carianne says, full of spunky energy nobody should have. Not this early on a Sunday, not headed into spring break. She munches on a banana, tucking her sunbleached hair behind her ears. A ponytail swings beneath her fuchsia hat, it’s bright color a match with her neon workout attire.

I wipe salt from the corners of my eyes and sip my brew. It’s medium roast and black, my little luxury. I keep the beans locked away in my room, not trusting them out here in the dorm’s common area. But most people have gone elsewhere for the break — home, out to the coast, backpacking through some exotic destination — and it’s only me and Carianne here. I point at the bag of beans. “You want?”

“Oooh, the secret stash,” she winks, “That’s cool. But I already had mine.”

She turns to throw the empty peel into the trash, and my gaze flits down to sneak a peek at her figure. I don’t mean to be a creep, and I don’t even really think of Carianne that way, but workout clothes are my weakness. And the way her bright blue sportsbra slips out from beneath the edges of her tank top, and the way her even brighter green stretch leggings hug her ass… well, it’s certainly delightful. “Suit yourself,” I say.

“You should join me.”

Carianne’s door is across the hall from mine, and she’s sly, at all times with a grin like she knows a secret, at all times like she’s got something else going on. We’ve never hung out alone. Never just the two of us. And I don’t know what to do with an invitation to change that. “Nah, um… thanks. But yoga’s not really my thing–”

“Bullshit, Erik,” she waves away my refusal like it doesn’t matter, and maybe it doesn’t, “Yoga’s good for you. And you already told me you’ve got no plans. C’mon, you can borrow Ella’s mat, she won’t care.” Another girl in our block, currently away.

Yet I protest. “I’ve never done it. I’m not very limber–”

“Everybody starts somewhere,” Carianne says, taking my hand, dragging me towards the patio, “It’s ok to suck at things.”

“I’m not dressed for it,” I whine.

“You’re in a shorts and a T,” she shakes her head, “You’re dressed for yoga. C’mon, stop being a whiner. I’ll show you what to do.”

There’s a little yard behind our apartment dorm, not intentionally private, but the way the buildings and paths and landscape work out it’s basically that way. Carianne marches us past the barbecue and table and sets out the mats on the grass, two thin strips of padding a couple feet aside. She sits down on one, indicating I should take the other.

I eye it warily, still toying with the idea of retreating back to my room and my comfy bed and pillows and laptop.

But then, Carianne does the most amazing thing. She raises her arms over her head and slips her tank-top off. She tosses it to the ground and I try not to goggle.

Her sportsbra — it restrains the most incredible rack. The blue fabric pinches together two big, glorious breasts. They protrude magnificently from her chest, casting a dark shadow over her flat little belly.

“Ok, I’ll join you,” I say eagerly, sitting on the mat facing Carianne.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t be a weirdo, Erik.”

“You’re a goddess,” I say, “Who’s going to teach me yoga. Let’s get started.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes again. “I’m serious. Don’t make me sorry I invited you. Just cause you’re the only boy around doesn’t mean I’m desperate.”

“What? I’m serious too!” I protest, “What’s the first stretch?” I reach out, grasping straight-legged for my toes.

She looks at me levelly. “You’re going to hurt yourself. Just– do what I do.”

And I do. I do what she does, and I put actual effort into it. She leads me through the stretches — poses, she calls them — and I mimic her form best I can. If, while studying her form, I happen to catch a glimpse of her nice, round ass stretching taut her green pants, or if I might see her back arch and tits press out into her blue sportsbra, nipples poking through the fabric, then that’s just a consequence of me being a good and observant student. She can’t blame me for my attention to detail.

“Would you stop ogling me?” Carianne says.

Or maybe she can.

“What?” I play innocent.

“I can see you staring at my tits.”

“I just want to make sure I’m getting the poses correct.”

“Fuck off, Erik,” she says, shaking her head.

“I’m serious! I’m not a pervert. I just have a condition.”

She takes on the next pose, a lunge-ish lean. “A condition? What do you mean condition?”

I lunge, and keep my face straight. “My condition is that I have a weakness for sports bras.”

She gives me a dirty look. But I catch a hint of a smirk before she turns away.
“You’re such a loser,” she mutters.

“Also workout pants,” I add.

Carianne sighs, rolls her eyes. “Just do the fucking yoga.” She stands, bending over at the waist.

I copy her, best I can. The caffeine warms me, and her figure too, and I’m improving.

We do a few more poses, stretching, bending, twisting in silence. It’s a peaceful morning, with a sun rising into the clear sky from behind the hillside. Birds chirp and flitter past. It’s brisk, but not cold, the breeze gentle and fresh. In the distance we can hear the faint buzz of voices, but here we are alone.

“Ok, on this next one, try not to get a boner,” Carianne says.

“What?” My eyes widen, but I watch her do near the splits before leaning her upper body forward. I get a full view of her heavy tits hanging down and swinging into her sports bra, a valley of cleavage on display. “Hot damn!”

She frowns. “I said–”

“I meant ‘hot damn’ that’s a tricky pose,” I say, frantic to catch up.

Her eyes narrow. “Keep your knees pointed up.”

“Right.” I look up at her, looking at her knees, my gaze sliding to meet her glare, making a brief detour past her deep cleavage.

“You just can’t control yourself, can you?”

“It’s hard.”

“What is? Your dick?”

“Umm–”

“Don’t answer that!” she barks.

“I meant the pose.”

Carianne shakes her head. “This next is called cobra pose.” She lays face down on her mat, pushing on the ground with arms folded beneath her, tilting her chest up and back.

My jaw drops as the maneuver puts her round ass prone and on display, arches her back, pushes out her tits. “There’s no way that’s a real pose.”

She rolls her eyes. “It is.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Stop gawking and try it.”

“I told you about my condition, right?”

She groans. She tries to hide it, but she doesn’t turn away fast enough, and I catch her smirk.

I try to imitate her, but I’m clumsy, and I keep getting distracted by the sexy silhouette she cuts.

“Pathetic,” she mutters, “Ok. Last one. Let’s see if you can be the happy baby.”

“Happy baby?” I echo.

Carianne rolls onto her back, folding her knees against her chest. She grabs her feet, and I am given the most obscenely tantalizing view of her crotch. Her pants wrap tight over her pussy, and her mound presses through the fabric, right there in front of me.

My jaw drops as I study it, searching for any hint of camel toe.

“You’re disgusting, Erik.”

“Oh, um, sorry,” I shake my head, scrambling to get into form, to copy her pose, ridiculous as the position is. My cheeks are warm with embarrassment at having been called out. It was different before, when it was a game. This time I’d been just horny gawking.

I roll onto my back, into the happy baby, and hold my legs to my chest.

Carianne gets up on her knees and looms over me. “Not too bad,” she says, adjust my arms and calves, “For a first time.”

“Err, thanks,” I stammer.

“Let’s see how long you can stay this way,” she says, the sparkle of mischief returning to her eye.

“What does that — oh!” My question cuts off as her hand drops onto my crotch, her palm resting against my balls while her fingers curl around my cock. She squeezes the material of my shorts tight around my shaft. “What–”

“Hold, Erik,” she says, her grin growing, “Hold!”

As her grip grows stronger, my dick surges hard, becoming quickly erect in my shorts.

“Well, look at that,” she says, “What have we here? Is that boner for me, Erik?”

“I–” but my words squelch into a gasp as she slides her fist up, then back down, jacking me off.

“Is this your condition acting up Erik?” she mocks me, “You didn’t tell me how big a condition it is.”

“I’m sorry!” I whimper.

“Sorry?” she says, “What are you sorry about? I have a condition, too. Didn’t you know? My condition is that I like to see men squirm. Now let’s see if I can’t get…”

She fumbles with my shorts, fishing my dick and balls through the fly, exposing them to the spring morning air. “Someone’ll see!” I hiss.

“Nobody’s around,” she shrugs, “And anyway. You shouldn’t hide a boner like this away, Erik. A big boner like this, it’s for the whole world.”

She lets my dick spring free, and it pops up stiff and straight. With her hand under my shaved sac, she lifts my balls up before letting them bounce back down.

I whimper.

“Don’t break the pose!” she warns, repeatedly toying with my nuts. They bulge heavy, unused to such attention, sensitive but enjoying at the same time.

My cock throbs, even neglected as it is, and my head swims. Blush rushes through my ears, a dull roar, muting Carianne’s cruel giggles.

“I suppose I should drain these for you,” she says, “What do you think?”

My voice comes out a squeak. “Y-yes!”

“Pathetic,” she shakes her head. But her fist finds my fat shaft, and she drags it up and down in slow, lazy strokes.

It’s fucking incredible, her touch, and I can’t help but moan in pleasure. My pose slips, my feet breaking free from my hands, and I’m quick to try to bring them back. That is, until I see Carianne laughing at me, rolling her eyes. Her hand continues it’s mesmerizing journey up and down the length of my cock even as my legs spread open.

Her hand is cold and strong on my dick, but surprisingly soft. Her tits bounce side to side in their bra, tantalizing inches from my dick.

“Who gave you permissions to have such a big fucking cock, Erik? It’s obscene. You could poke someone’s eye out with this thing.”

“What?”

She slaps my cock. It bounces against her chest before springing back into place.

I whimper in ecstasy.

“You’re such a pervert.” She shakes her head.

She strokes and strokes, jacking me off relentlessly, laughing at how simple I am to control, at how uncomplicated is my dominion. Sometimes her second fist joins her first, pumping me in maddening synchronization. Sometimes it finds my balls, tickling or squeezing them. Sometimes she teases my inner thighs, making me twitch and squirm.

But when she focuses on my glans, her thumb running an onslaught of laps around the sensitive underside of the head of my cock, that’s when I tense and buck.

Carianne laughs, a cruel, derisive sound. “Look at you, Erik. Big fat cock, no idea how to use it.”

I cringe and whimper and cum, my balls clenching as semen erupts from my swollen shaft. My spunk sprays up into the brisk morning air, a heavy jet haphazardly fouling the lawn, the yoga mat beneath me, my own shorts.

Carianne doesn’t even break a stride, her fist continuing unabated on it’s steady circuit up and down my shaft. She milks me for every drop, not caring where the cum ends up. Her hand is dripping with it, my cock slick, my shorts soaked.

I pinch my eyes closed and collapse back onto the grass, spent. Drained.

Carianne stands. “Fuck, Erik. You better clean up that mat off, or Ella’s gonna be pissed.”

I catch my breath, saying nothing.

NSFW: yes

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