Positions

Distrust is a funny thing because it should be fairly easy to hide, yet everyone always knows when you’re looking at them with it.

He’s giving you that look. It’s written all over his face. In big, black, bold letters. And yet he hasn’t said anything. Betrayal has left him more like a scolded puppy than a vengeful husband.

No one is blameless here - that’s for certain. He suffers the humiliation for all three of you, though. You don’t feel much shame - and she obviously doesn’t feel any. So he has to take the brunt of it. That’s his penance to bear, and it’s why he scowls so hard.

She doesn’t even glance his way. Her focus is solely on you. There is something so wrong with that. It’s sick - how you can feel like you’ve broken a man without ever even meeting him.

“Morning, Zuha,” you speak as you bow and let her inside your studio. She is a sight, as she is in her usual garb: tight, stretchy pants, and a top which clings to her body, showing off her figure. Today’s ensemble is light blue, top and bottom. It complements her skin tone and the deep, dark wave of hair, which, for once, isn’t up in a ponytail. It flows over her shoulders, past them, to mid-back, and you wonder why she bothers tying it back if it looks so beautiful when loose.

She’s wearing a wide smile, in complete contrast to the man she leaves outside. There is nothing to suggest that this is a day where she does anything other than go about her regular routine of exercise and self-care, but there are a lot of lies here. Her lies. His too.

She’s quiet as she walks past. You close the door, shutting out her external ties to the real world, and turning to her. Eyes - warm and inviting - scan your appearance, taking in your casual clothing. It isn’t like her to not say anything when she comes in, and it isn’t like you to just let her stand in the middle of the studio without a word of instruction. Today, though, today isn’t about the usual.

“Kazuha,” you begin to say, which she immediately interrupts.

“I’ve been practising,” she informs you, her tone more excited than you have heard it in a while, which, in itself, isn’t a surprise to you.

“Maybe you’d like to show me how you’re getting on,” you reply, but you don’t even need to finish speaking to have her nod in agreement and begin to take her position. She faces the mirror at the far side of the studio. You stand behind her. You watch her, and she watches herself. She likes to look at her own body as she stretches it to its limits.

You would be the first to say it’s an impressive sight to witness.

She lifts both hands, then bends over and places the flats of both palms on the ground. She’s doubled over, her ass in the air. Her legs are stretched taut, straight and firm, and she holds the position.

“I have to ask,” you say, taking a step closer to her. “Is this going to be a lesson or a performance?”

She looks up at you from between her legs, head upside down, “Just watch.”

She crawls her hands forward and slides her feet outwards. Her legs get wider and her ass begins to sink towards the ground - it’s pulled so taut. Round and firm, even though you know it’s a soft cushion from personal experience. You watch her legs spread full as she completes the splits. She leans forward and places her chest flat on the ground. Her back is as tense as her thighs and legs, but there’s much less fabric there to hide the definition. You watch the way she arches her spine and her shoulders flex to pull herself off the ground, pushing herself back upwards, hands flat to the floor, her legs straight and stretched as far as possible.

She looks over her shoulder at you, and she has the most beautiful of smiles. It’s a wide grin complemented by the slight blush on her cheeks and the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. It’s a look she has given you many a time - a look you know well. A look that has been etched into your memory for many months. The unforgettable kind.

She knows exactly what you’re looking at and she lets out the breathiest of laughs before she speaks, “How’s my form?” And she knows it’s good. You know she’s not asking for your professional opinion on how she’s getting along with the splits, she wants you to tell her that her ass looks amazing, which you do.

“It’s perfect.”

“I can go further, remember, just lift my legs up into the air,” she reminds you.

“Yeah, I remember.” She had been a natural from the start. Her legs had no trouble with the stretches. They had no issue being forced apart and being suspended at all. “I think we should work on that now, actually.”

“And why’s that?” she asks with a coy look as she brings her outstretched legs around in front of her and then pushes herself back to her feet.

“Well,” you say, as you walk over to her. You take her hand, and then you lead her towards the mirrored wall with the bar for support. “You want the honest answer or the professional one?”

She laughs again. It’s a delightful sound, her laugh. It makes your chest tight. “Both.”

“Well, professionally,” you begin, releasing her hand so she can hold the rail and look at herself in the mirror. You stand behind her, with your hands on her waist and speak into her ear. “Professionally, it’s a challenge to your body’s strength, balance, and mobility.” Your hand travels along the smooth curve of her hip.

“Is that so?” she says with a hint of amusement, as her breathing grows more laboured.

“Mhm,” you reply, as your fingers caress down the back of her thigh. You hold her leg in your palm, fingers settling on her inner thigh, ready to guide her into position.

“And the other thing?” She asks, breathless.

“The honest thing?” You ask, but she doesn’t reply. “The honest thing is, I like seeing your body pushed to the limit.”

“Oh,” is all she says, in some pseudo-agreeing and nonchalant tone before she starts to raise her leg. She holds the rail, and you guide her leg up, past the horizontal and all the way to the vertical. It’s straight and high, and her standing leg is stable, even with her bare feet. “Like this?”

“Yes. Like that. How’s your balance?”

“It’s fine. I’ve got a strong core, you know that.”

“All too well,” you say as you slip your hand along her inner thigh. No longer supporting, you encroach on the thin barrier between you and the apex of her thighs. Your fingers press against her. The material is tight and thin. You can feel her warmth, even through the layers of fabric.

“You know my husband is right outside.” Her tone isn’t accusatory, not at all. If anything, she sounds excited. Thrilled even. Her words seem to encourage you, and your hand presses firmer into her crotch, the fabric rubbing against her.

“I know,” you say as you look at the reflection, meeting her eyes by peering through the space between her head and her foot. You look at her and see the way she is watching your every move. You glance at the way her leg is up in the air. She’s so stable, even as you rub her cunt. Your fingers press in, feeling for the folds beneath her pants, and then you slip a little lower and press your fingertip against her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she exhales with a low groan. You smirk at her reaction.

“Hold the pose,” you tell her as your finger rubs in small circles. “Don’t move.”

She’s biting her lip and her chest rises with each deep breath, as if trying to keep herself stable and standing. Her leg trembles, just slightly, and you can’t help but laugh as you feel the muscles tense under your touch.

“Stay still,” you whisper to her.

“You’re making that difficult,” she says with a short huff of a laugh.

“You want me to stop?”

“No.” It comes out quick and firm.

You smirk, and you keep on rubbing her pussy through the thin, tight material of her pants. You press your hand in harder, as you look her body over. She looks divine. Her body is so tight, with her legs and thighs being pushed to their absolute limits. You watch the muscles of her neck flex and the tension in her shoulders as she holds herself stable, her head up to look in the mirror. She watches you, and watches her leg up in the air, as she tries to focus on anything other than the heat which floods between her thighs.

Her mouth opens slightly, her eyes close and her brow creases, but the moment her breath sounds more like a moan, she clamps her mouth closed and lets out a deep breath through her nose. It makes you smile. Her cheeks are glowing red. Her breath is heavy, and she’s trying to be so quiet.

“How long do we have? How long will he wait out there?” you ask as you lean in closer. Her body shudders at the proximity. Your breath hits the exposed skin on her neck, making her tremble.

“As long as I need him to.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to hold the position while I make you cum?”

Her eyes open again, and she looks at your reflection. She’s smiling. She nods, just slightly.

“You think you’ll be able to stay balanced while you have my fingers in you?”

Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, and her breath leaves her in a short, sharp gasp. You know how to get to her. Her smile grows.

“I’d love to rip these open, but I can’t send you home in ruined clothes,” you whisper. It makes her giggle, a soft and amused noise. You pull her leg back down, and she stands there, hand on the railing, with a slight bend in her hips and a slight arch in her back. It pushes her ass out, and she does it with a purpose. She knows what she’s doing. She knows exactly how she looks. “Never get tired of that ass,” you comment as you grab it. A quick, firm squeeze. It’s so pliable in your hand. She laughs.