Jordan’s Yoga Lesson
“I want you to try and make me orgasm, before I make you orgasm.” He smiles, and his crisp blue eyes twinkle and I notice that the fine hair on his bald head is snow white, this ‘yoga master’ who stands before me in the introduction area of Le Penthouse Suite, the Glitter Strip’s finest and most reputable bordello.
I’m sucking a chuppa chup lolly pop, strawberry and cream, because I like the taste and also because it turns clients on, especially when I’m wearing the one piece transparent mesh lingerie suit that oh so accentuates the erotic curvature of my fulsome and firm size 8 body. I stand there with this ‘yoga master’ and I swing my head just for the effect, to send my long platinum blonde hair cascading over my shoulder, and I lock my crystal blue eyes on his blue eyes and I say, “I’m sure I can make you orgasm, Mr ‘yoga master’, before I do.” And I place my purple nailed hand on my hip, arch my back and pout my lips, “Any other requests?”
“We hold one posture only, from the Kama Sutra Tantra, it is the Sun and the Moon posture, ‘Yab-Yum’.” He smiles again and I think of white clouds floating across a clear blue sky. “I’ll show you the posture when we begin, Miss Jordan.”
At least he got my name right, and I lead him away from the introduction area with the sound of some Indian sitar music in that old Aussie song by that 80s band, Masters and Apprentices, playing on the huge flat screen television that adorns the introduction area wall that we are walking away from.
I play the usual swaying of my hips, accentuating my lithe and long legs so delicately balanced on black stilettos as we ascend the stairs, accentuating the sweet swell of my buttocks, lingering some moments on steps to see if he will bump into me, but the ‘yoga master’ doesn’t show any hint of lust or desire. I become a little intrigued. At the top of the stairs, I suddenly turn around and grab his hands and lead him while walking backwards, to the room at the end of the hall, suite one, the deluxe bordello, and he allows me to take his hands, even giving me a gently squeeze and looking deeply into my eyes, and yes, I can see a hint of lasciviousness in them. And yes, the corner of his mouth turns up in a half smile, a wicked lilting half-grin that seems devilishly perverse, given the fact that he is wearing hippy pants, flat sandals, a tie dye shirt and meditation beads slung around his neck.
As we move through the doorway I slink my arms around his waist and pull him into an embrace with a kiss full of tongue, and this startles him. I feel down to his crotch and yes he has a semi-hard-on, so he is into me. The embrace lasts for a few moments as he closes the door behind us, and then I say, “So, tell me about this Sun and Moon posture?”
“How about I show you instead,” and this lean and nimble looking man, this yoga master grabs me by one wrist and with his other hand pulls off the straps of my one piece lingerie body suit, exposing my full breasts, so I assist him in stripping myself naked and wriggle out of my bodysuit. He begins to disrobe, first taking off his tie dye shirt without removing his beads and then slipping off his hippy pants and surprisingly he is wearing light blue briefs, showing a huge bulge in the crotch section.
Now fully naked before him, I draw attention to my nipples by playing with them and this draws him to me, and he is naked as well, having slipped out of his briefs, his clothes are in a pile by the love seat.
We start kissing, and fondling each other, one hand slinks around my waist and pulls me against his stiff hard erection, and he rubs himself against my mound and lower belly. I moan a little. I grab his thick shaft and give it a hard squeeze and then start stroking it until sticky trails of pre-cum lace my fingers and belly.
All the while our lips are locked, and my long blonde hair cascades around us like a halo. I hiss in his ear, “So do we need the bed for the Sun and Moon posture?”
He whispers back between kissing and sucking my neck and face, “No the floor will do,” and he starts to pull me down to the plush carpeting that covers the bedroom floor, and I hesitate for a moment, pull away and grab a condom packet from the bedside table. I tear it open with my teeth and watch him cross his legs and move into that famous meditation posture they call lotus. I see that he is sitting cross-legged, but the ankles are placed high up on his thighs, a demonstration in flexibility. I think to myself, he is a yoga master.
He motions for me to sit on his lap, to sit on his throbbing erection as he sits there in lotus posture. I start to straddle him on the floor, and at the same time I fit the condom onto his length, rolling it down over the thick shaft with my fingers, hotly kissing him, and then I am straddling his lap, my legs around his back, my arms draped around his shoulders.
He says, “Make me orgasm before I make you orgasm.” And then I position my tight hairless pussy over the head of his erection, raising myself up a little, and then settling down onto his length with a silent pop, and his hands grab my love handles when this happens, and then we start rocking, and humping in that seated position. He thrusts upwards with his hips, pushing up with his cross-legged thighs, and he adjusts his position and finds deeper access into my cervix, into my G-spot, and now we are in rhythm, rocking a little, swaying a little, united, the Sun and the Moon.
I remember he wants me to make him orgasm before I do, so I clamp my internal sugar walls around his erection so deep inside me and hold his length tight, making it hard for him to penetrate so deeply, so he responds by pulling me hard down onto his shaft, and the rhythm follows a pattern of four sharp hard jabs into me, and then four slow stabs, where he pulls my neck into his lips and sucks the flesh at my throat.
It seems like endless moments, and then his thrusting becomes more urgent, more furious and he is actually lifting both of us off the floor by flexing his thigh muscles, kind of bouncing us up and up, and the jolting makes me so sensitive and the thrusting crescendos into a manic pounding and I orgasm without being able to control myself, but he doesn’t come.
I am a little peeved, but don’t show it, kissing him deeply but pulling myself off him and then grabbing his shaft with my hand, pulling off his condom, and then pulling and stroking his length so savagely that in a few moments he ejaculates thick ropey cum all over my breasts and face and belly, and I see bliss flood across his face and he gives me that smile again, and I kiss him on his lips, covered in his cum, all hot and bothered with this yoga master.
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