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Adventures in Yoga

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Erik was in agony. This was torture.

"And into downward dog," said Charles, sounding like the Queen of England suggesting sexual positions.

Erik did the worst downward dog in human history so he could stare at Charles' ass, his apple cheeked, bubble buttocked, firm enough to bounce pennies off ass.

How was this his life?

It was all Emma's fault of course.

Three months earlier

"You're making good progress, Erik, well done." She talked to him like he was a dog. Good Erik, good boy. "But I think you need to do something physical to help with your anger management issues."

"I don't have anger management issues. I have 'people being Nazi douche-bags' issues."

Emma sighed and tapped her immaculately manicured nails on her Louis XIV desk. She was the company psychologist. Erik had been referred to her after punching a fellow department head in the face. Shaw had said:

"I'm not saying the holocaust didn't happen, I'm just saying that maybe we should look at those figures."

Shaw had been sent on sensitivity training, Erik had been referred to Emma.

"Be that as it may, I think some mind-body training would be invaluable."

"I already do krav maga. I've always wanted to have a go at cage fighting."

She gave him The Look. Erik was pretty sure she was a black ops assassin and the psychologist gig was just a cover.

"I was thinking of yoga."

"Yoga? Yoga? Isn't that all being at one with the universe and having sex without touching?"

"Trust me, Erik, you could do with being at one with the universe," she said, dry as dust.

She muttered something sotto voce that sounded suspiciously like "could do with getting your ashes hauled too."

"Here's the number of a studio I've referred clients to in the past. Call it."

She gave him a diamond drill look. Since the two reasons Erik hadn't been fired were the hellacious profit his department was making and Emma's willingness to take him on, he decided he'd better do as he was told. Besides, he could do with being more supple. His trainer was always telling him his muscles were too tight and he needed flexibility as well as strength.

Erik turned up at the studio. It was just as he'd feared. Crystals, greenery, whale sounds. Fuck. He slouched into the yoga suite with a bunch of women. They seemed remarkably well dressed and coiffed and made-up. Perhaps it was a yoga thing. Erik was wearing a grey sleeveless tee (it had originally been white) and his baggiest sweat pants. Everyone laid out their mats. Erik put his down at the back. A couple of women looked like they were going to say hello. He smiled at them and that scared 'em off.

He wondered what the instructor would be like. He imagined a super fit, super healthy, Gwyneth Paltrow type. Or perhaps a warm, hippyish, earth mother in hemp clothing. The instructor was two minutes late. Erik frowned. He couldn't abide tardiness.

"Hello, everyone. Sorry I'm late as per usual."

WTF? Was Prince William taking this class? The women all alerted like hunting dogs. The instructor walked to the front. Erik immediately understood why the yoga ladies were done up like Christmas. He kinda wished he'd put on a little eyeliner, maybe some blusher, a tad of lip gloss.

The vision at the front of the class smiled. He was short. Check. He was slim yet muscular, with an ass to die for. Check. He had pale, creamy, lickable, biteable skin. Check. He had slightly too long, wavy, chestnut hair. Check. His eyes were the sort of blue in which sailors drowned. Check. His nose was strong and aquiline. Check. His lips . . . his lips . . . his lips . . . Erik's brain short circuited, overloaded with images of those plump, luscious, obscenely red lips stretching round his cock.

"I see we have a new student. Hello. I'm Charles. What's your name?"

Charles looked directly at Erik, eyes scouring his soul, cleansing his spirit and perking up his cock.

"Erik."

"Say hello to Erik, everyone."

"Hello, Erik," said the class obediently.

Erik was 100% certain that if Charles had said "stab Erik, everyone" he'd be bleeding onto the sprung floor. Hell, he was ready to take on the combined world superpowers at Charles' bidding.

Charles walked over. The way he moved. Like a panther. Like an angel whose feet barely touched the earth. Like a dancer. Like . . . like . . . like someone who used up all your similes really quickly.

"Since you're new, Erik, I'd like to take a brief history."

Erik usually hated talking about himself, but he was poised to tell Charles about being bullied at school, getting arrested for LGBT+ activism, how important his Jewish heritage was to him and his enduring love for his mama.

"Do you have any medical conditions or injuries I should know about?"

Oh, yes, right. Erik dazedly told his fantasy husband about the ligament tear to his left shoulder and the right knee with a tendency to dislocate.

"Be careful not to overextend those areas, Erik. If it hurts, stop. We don't believe in 'no pain, no gain' here, do we class?"

"No, Charles," they chorused.

He'd make an amazing cult leader. Erik would drink his Kool-Aid any day.

"Just take things easy, Erik. Be gentle on yourself."

I'd rather be rough on you, thought Erik.

The rest of the class was exquisite agony. Charles contorted himself into positions Erik had previously seen only in porn. He was wearing a bright blue, sleeveless top with cutaway armholes. In certain positions Erik got an excellent view of his dark nipples. His yoga pants were loose and draping and clung to his ass and thighs as lovingly as Erik wanted to. Erik thanked the gods his sweats were baggy as he spent most of the class sporting a semi.

The worst bit was when Charles strolled over to give him some personal attention.

"Would it be alright if I touched you to ease you into the correct position? Say no if the idea makes you even the tiniest bit uncomfortable."

Yes, yes, touch me, mark me as your own, screamed Erik's hind brain.

"S'fine," mumbled Erik.

Short, strong fingers settled on the small of his back.

"Just a little straighter, Erik, not too straight though, we want to maintain the natural curve of your spine. Perfect."

Charles thought Erik was perfect. Erik's cock thought Charles was perfect.

Those firm, gentle hands alighted on Erik's upper thigh, perilously close to his groin and Big Max.

"Relax that thigh, Erik. Good, good. You are a quick learner."

Praise from the god of his idolatry. Big Max twitched.

Charles smiled brightly, patted him on the shoulder and moved on to the woman next to him. Erik stared at her with homicidal intensity.

Every week he turned up and every week it was the same. Charles would bend his beautiful body into extraordinary poses, touch Erik with kind, sturdy hands and leave him a trembling mess of UST. Erik had to jerk off in the restroom immediately after class, again when he got home and just before he went to sleep.

If only Charles were dumb or nasty. A post class chat about Erik's job - metallurgist - where Charles self-depreciatingly decried his knowledge, then went on to have a conversation most second year metallurgy students would have struggled with, put paid to one hope. Another talk over a wheatgrass juice - Charles persuaded him into it; Erik now knew cows weren't to be envied - demolished the "nasty" theory. They were talking about how Charles came to be a yoga instructor.

"I was in a car accident," he said softly, blue eyes downcast, white teeth worrying his red lower lip. "A bad one. It was touch and go if I'd ever walk again. I have some truly impressive scars on my back. It was my physiotherapist who recommended yoga. It saved me, physically and emotionally. I'd been on track to become a geneticist, but I retrained as a physio and yoga teacher. I wanted to give back what I'd received."

Erik knew from overhearing his classmates' gossip that Charles gave free lessons to abuse survivors and underprivileged kids.

He wanted to kiss his scars. He wanted to kiss his feet. He wanted to scream "take me, I'm yours", he wanted to tear Charles' clothes off and bend him over the organic juice bar and fuck the living daylights out of him amongst the wheatgrass.

Another week, another class.

"And into the cobra climbing a tree pose."

That would be great for doing it up against the wall.

"Deer drinking from a stream."

Head down, tail up, Erik kneeling behind him.

"Sita worshipping the lingam of Rama."

That was just cocksucking, pure and simple.

"The snake enters the cavern."

Seriously?

"The ring circles the column."

He had to be making these up.

"The twin pillows are parted by the sword of destiny."

Now it was getting ridiculous.

Charles was in the lotus position, rising and falling in slow motion. Erik was in the lotus position, imagining Charles in his lap doing exactly the same movement on Erik's prick. They stood, Charles in one smooth, effortless glide, thighs a poem in contraction and release, Erik swaying like a tree in a high wind and almost falling over. Into the pose where they stood on one leg, with the other bent at the knee, pushed out to the side, foot flat on the side of the other knee, hands in front in a praying gesture.

Erik couldn't remember what this one was called - man with one leg entreats the gods for a second leg or something - but he was quite good at it. Charles padded over. Erik had never understood foot fetishists until now. He wanted to suck every one of Charles' bare toes.

"You're doing very well, Erik."

Erik grinned like a sap.

"Just a tiny correction."

Charles put one hand on the small of his back, the other on his belly. Erik's heart rate rocketed. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Big Max got interested.

"Engage those splendid abdominal muscles, Erik. Excellent."

Charles' fingers moved in small circles on his stomach. Fuuuck.

"Now straighten your back just a fraction. Good work."

Both hands slid down a little, slipping from his stomach to just graze his pubes and easing down his back to the curve of his butt. Big Max stood to full attention. Erik entered the sort of trance state usually achieved by yogis only after decades of practice.

"Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out."

With every breath Charles' forefinger dipped into the crack of his ass and the tip of Erik's erection brushed Charles' little finger. Oceanic eyes gazed into his. Chestnut hair, dark with sweat, tickled Erik's cheek. Ruby lips parted in a sigh. He could smell Charles and he smelt delicious. Erik was falling. He was falling. Fuck, he really was falling. He hit the floor with a thud.

"Erik, are you alright? I'm so sorry, that was entirely my fault. I kept you in that pose for way too long."

"I'm fine," said Erik. "I'll finish the class on the floor if you don't mind."

He couldn't get up because the whole class would see his stiffy.

"Of course I don't mind. Whatever's comfortable for you. Once again, my apologies."

He seemed genuinely distressed. No, no, Erik couldn't have his Charles upset.

"No need for apologies. I'm fine, really. It's only my pride that's hurt."

This was a lie. His coccyx stung like hell. Charles gave him a warm smile and carried on teaching his class. They finished up with the corpse pose. Erik had to lie on his front while Big Max subsided. He was rolling up his mat when Charles walked over, touched his arm - Erik's whole body yearned towards him - and said:

"Would you mind staying after class for a quick chat?"

"No, sure."

The ladies bade Charles a lingering farewell. He closed the door behind them and turned to Erik.

"Erik, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave my class."

He'd noticed Erik's hard-on, how could he not have, and was offended. Erik's karma, or whatever it was, nosedived into the pits of hell.

"Please, Charles, please, give me another chance."

He wasn't too proud to beg.

"I can't, Erik. You see it would be highly unprofessional and unethical to have a sexual relationship with a client."

Erik was just about to start pleading again when the sound waves that had entered his ears were reassembled into sense by his brain.

"A sexual relationship?"

"Yes. If you were still my student I wouldn't be able to do this."

Charles shoved him up against the wall, grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him passionately. Those were Charles' lips on his lips. That was Charles' tongue in his mouth. That was Charles' spit, tasting faintly of wheatgrass, he was tasting. That was Charles' lithe, muscular body pressed up against him. Erik was so stunned he didn't kiss back.

Charles stepped away. His face looked tragic.

"Oh, God, Erik, I'm so sorry. I misread the signals. I thought you were interested in me."

By way of answer, Erik seized his waist, spun him round so his back was up against the wall and kissed him soft and slow. Charles made a happy noise and lavished kisses all over Erik's face and throat. He lifted one leg, slung it round Erik's narrow waist and pressed his heel into the small of Erik's back, grinding their hips together.

Erik whimpered pathetically. Big Max responded enthusiastically. Charles rutted against him and ran his hands down Erik's spine. Erik tugged his top to one side and latched onto one nipple, flickering his tongue like a hummingbird at a flower and suckling like piglet at a sow's teat. OK, maybe not the last one. Charles hauled off Erik's tee and planted kisses on his collarbones. He pulled Erik's sweat pants down, taking his boxers with them. His eyes widened.

"Oh. My. God. You looked big in those sweats but, really, that's unprecedented."

"Is that a problem?"

Charles grinned, a gloriously filthy grin.

"I know it's terribly shallow, but I'm a bit of a size queen."

Yeeeesssss!

Erik ripped - literally, he'd buy him a new one - off Charles' top and tore down his loose pants. Tiny purple briefs met his eyes, barely covering a rigid cock.

"Purple is my favourite colour," said Erik like an idiot.

Charles started giggling. Erik laughed, fell to his knees and removed the briefs with his teeth. Charles' cock wasn't as big as his, but it was beautifully proportioned, bright red and uncut. Erik thrust his face into Charles' groin, revelling in the ripe, musky smell of him, the tickle of dark pubic hair and the satiny-smooth hardness of his prick. Charles put one foot on the window ledge, hopped up and braced the other on the barre that ran along the wall. Fuck, his muscle control was amazing. Erik kissed his pearly pale inner thighs, fondled his balls and sucked his cock. It tasted clean and salty. Charles moaned. Even his moans sounded posh.

Erik licked his pink pucker and slid the tip of a spit-slick finger inside. Charles gasped and scrabbled at Erik's shoulders.

"Lube and condoms in my bag," breathed Charles.

Erik retrieved them. Charles jumped down and piled up yoga mats.

"You bring lube and condoms to your yoga class?"

Charles fluttered his eyelashes and pouted.

"I have done ever since you started my class."

All this time Erik had been pining after him, Charles had been pining after Erik. Erik grabbed him and wrestled him to the mats. He caressed the mass of scar tissue that fissured Charles' back. They rolled around, cocks sliding against each other in delicious friction, fingers digging into asses, lips locked together. Charles pushed him off.

"I want to show you another yoga position," he said.

He lay on his back and lifted his legs into the air. He pulled them back towards his body, feet heading for his ears. Then he put his ankles behind his head. He. Put. His. Ankles. Behind. His. Head. The view was remarkable.

Erik could hardly speak, but he managed to choke out, "What's that position called?"

"It's called the 'fuck me so hard the lotus position is painful for days' position."

Erik fought with the cap of the lube and after three abortive attempts managed to get it off. He slathered his fingers in lube and prepped Charles in a daze of lust.

"Enough, enough, get your cock inside me," groaned Charles.

"Yes, sensei."

Charles snorted with laughter. Erik rolled the condom over his cock and lubed up. Charles breathed in sharply as Erik pushed in. He was tight and hot and perfect. Erik stilled once he was fully seated. Blue eyes fixed on green. Charles was flushed and sweaty and dishevelled and beautiful. Erik felt a powerful urge to declare his undying love, but decided he should wait for the second date.

He rolled his hips, nice and easy. Charles let out a long breath and smiled a blissed out smile. Erik fucked him lovingly, Charles' ass clenching around him in a slow rhythm. The extraordinary position meant he could go incredibly deep. He shifted the angle a bit.

"Fuck, yes, you've got it, that's it, keep hitting that spot," hissed Charles.

Erik kissed the tip of his nose and kept prodding his prostate.

"Faster, darling, harder, give me everything you've got."

Erik gave him everything he had, thrusting hard and fast and deep. Charles' rock hard cock slapped between their bellies. He unlocked his ankles from behind his head, wrapped his legs around Erik's waist and squeezed.

"I can take it, baby, give it to me, more, more, more."

Erik let go and fucked frenziedly into Charles, shoving him up the mats with every stroke, punching a scream from his lips with every thrust. Charles' rectal muscles pulsed around his cock. Erik yelled and came. Charles' amazing undulating ass milked him dry. He spurted over their stomachs, crying "ErikErikErik".

They lay there. Erik listened to Charles' breathing and the faint susurration of the air con.

"So, was that tantric sex?" he asked.

"No darling, that was good old fashioned fucking."

"How the hell did you do that thing with your ass?"

"The same way you get to Carnegie Hall."

"What, get off the subway at 57th Street and walk down Seventh Avenue?"

Charles laughed Erik's condom clad cock out of his ass.

Two months later and Erik had already introduced him to his mother (mutual adoration) and Charles had introduced him to his sister (mutual suspicion). For the first time in recorded history, Erik brought someone to the annual works picnic. Everybody, even Frosty the Snow Queen, loved Charles. Shaw wandered over. Erik bared his teeth in something that could have been mistaken for a smile. Shaw gave him a condescending smirk and Charles a creepy leer. Even Charles, who liked everyone, looked a little put off.

"So, I see we share certain tastes," said creepy Shaw creepily.

"What tastes could we possibly share?" sneered Erik sneerily.

Shaw besmirched Charles' inner and outer loveliness with another leer.

"A taste for pretty, little fuck toys."

Erik punched him in the face.

Erik would probably have been fired and sued except Charles turned out to be a billionaire (Erik hadn't know) with a whole team of terrifying lawyers at his disposal. Charles' attack dogs promised the company and Shaw years of hideously expensive legal wrangling if anyone so much as gave Erik a nasty look.

Once Erik had got used to the idea of Charles having the income of a small country, things returned to normal; i.e.they were disgustingly sweet together and had tons of sweetly disgusting sex.

"So, Erik, up for the position of the curious monkey with his fist trapped in the jar? How about the dragon with two heads entering the narrow chasm?"

"You are so making these up."

He wasn't.