The Yoga Teacher

My name's Astrid. I'm a yoga teacher.

I'm thirty-four years old, and up until a few months ago, I was technically a virgin. This story's about how that ended.

It's also, basically, super-embarrassing and humiliating, but I have to tell it. Trust me. You'll understand why by the end.

***

For most of my adolescence and adult life, I've not been that attracted to people. In a sexual way. I mean, I like people, and I have great friends, but I've just never found other people sexy in a way that makes me think Oh yeah, I wanna get down with you.

In college I tried having flings with people, first guys, and then, when that didn't really happen, girls, but we never really got beyond the first kissing when it always became clear that however much I clicked with a person in a friendly way, I just wasn't that into bumping lips and hips with them. That's actually how I made some of my best friends: we tried to get it on and when it didn't work, the mutual embarrassment often made us friends for life.

I don't think I'm super-attractive, anyway. I know that in stories like these, people always want to know what you look like, so here goes:

I'm tall, 5'10", and I wear my hair short, and I'm always exercising so I'm quite muscly, and my speciality in yoga is ashtanga, which is quite athletic, so I'm pretty fit. I played hockey in school and was captain of the team, and I rowed in college. I've got quite a strong jaw and a biggish nose, so I suppose I look sort of masculine. I've been asked a couple of times if I'm a trans woman, which is understandable, really, but I'm not.

Anyway, after a while I went around telling people that I was asexual, because it was just easier.

But I'm not asexual. Nothing against being asexual, but that's not me.

See, the first embarrassing truth is that there is something that I find very sexually arousing indeed.

I first noticed it early on; anyone grabbing and hugging me made me feel very tingly, in an innocent way. And if anyone put their hands over my eyes, it had a similar effect.

When I was an adolescent--well, let's not talk about that, but it just got more intense.

So when I was around 18 or 19 and was in the midst of people who were all seriously exploring their sexuality, I went off and, on my own, did a little experimentation.

And that's how I discovered self-bondage.

So, you see, when people ask me if I'm ace, it's easier to say yes than to say 'Well, I do really enjoy tying myself up and blindfolding myself and masturbating!' That would probably kill the conversation, haha.

So that's the first embarrassing truth: I do get very aroused by being naked and trussed up and blind. I find it very secure, and I go into a place deep inside and I feel totally free, and when I touch myself I can have intense pleasure. I've learned to use a gag on myself, because I can get a bit vocal in my reaction. A neighbour once thumped on my bedroom wall while I was lying on the bed, hogtied and cumming. I was so mortified I couldn't look at anyone on my street for days.

I have to be careful when I do it, because ropemarks can last for a day or so, and because I teach yoga I spend quite a lot of time wearing yoga pants and a tank top, which show a fair bit of skin.

But to be honest, I don't want to do it all the time anyway. It's so intense that it's more like a special treat, a once-a-month thing.

Anyway, that's the background to what happens in my story. Now you know the first secret about me.

Better get on with the second.

... Oh, god, I can't believe what I'm going to tell you.

***

So, it was the height of summer, and I was teaching my regular evening class.

Summer always makes me feel more at home in my body. I like to work out and get a good sweat, and I like to see my students relaxing into themselves and becoming more at home with themselves.

On this particular Friday, though, I felt a little unsettled.

My social life hadn't exactly been roaring lately. I've never smoked and I hardly drink, and I hadn't been out much. I felt that there had been a lot of calm, peaceful yin in my life lately, not so much active yang. I was out of balance, and I had felt like it for some time. I'd even been less than 100% patient with my students, which is so unlike me.

It was only when the class was over and I was showering off that I realised what I had been missing.

I hadn't had tying-up time lately.

It had been months since I'd drawn the blind and shut my bedroom door and got my ropes and my hood out.

There was no other explanation: I was horny.

It had something to do with the presence of all those straining bodies in my class. I'm not attracted to my students, thank goodness, or anyone else in particular, but you can't be around lightly-clad people all day long and not start to think about skin and flesh and sweaty bodies.

On this Friday evening, it was my job to close up the studio and make sure everything was locked up and safe.

I got out of the shower, dried off, got dressed and said goodbye to the remaining students and my fellow teachers, then I went around checking everything and making sure it was all okay for the next day.

I heard my boss, Vicky, leaving the building. I was alone.

That's when I felt a sudden wave of arousal. A deep desire to have an orgasm, as soon as possible.

Well, my bike was locked up outside and it was a twenty-minute ride home.

I had a very naughty idea.

I went once around the studio again, just to make sure nobody was there. Then, pretending to myself that I wasn't doing what I was doing, I went to the storage room.

It was full of kit and gear and spare supplies of things. I looked around it, trying not to think too much of what I wanted to do.

I saw it: a roll of gauze bandage. Long since opened and now no longer fully sterile, or I wouldn't have considered wasting it.

I went to the storage room door and opened it and listened. There was no-one.

I shut the door and quickly kicked off my trainers, then I pulled off my t-shirt, eased down my cycling shorts, took off my sports bra and finally slid down my briefs. I left my clothes on the floor and took the bandage and sat on a table.

I quickly tore half a dozen strips and tied my ankles, then my thighs, then balled up one strip and put it in my mouth and gagged myself; then I tied a strip over my eyes, tight enough to keep them shut; and, blind but working by feel, I lashed my elbows to my sides and cautiously lay down on the table, and rolled onto my belly.

The bandages were tight, but I knew that with a strong flex, I could burst them. That was okay. It would do.

Blind and trussed and naked, I thrust my hand into my crotch and touched myself, and moaned.

I started to work away at myself, feeling my body get more aroused, my small boobs pressed flat on the table, my bare arse stuck up behind me, as I got myself closer to orgasm.

It was insane, of course. I was naked and tied up with bandages and masturbating in a storage room at my workplace. But I didn't care. For once, I wasn't being a good girl. I was being horny.

I moaned louder, the gauze in my mouth muffling me. With my eyes shut, I visualised my own body on the table, taut and muscular and naked but for strips of bandage, and I shuddered. My loins were filling up with warmth and promise. I knew I was going to cum.

And then I heard the footsteps.

I froze.

Someone else was in the building.

I literally had no idea what to do. I could try to get all my bindings off and get dressed, or...

Maybe nothing would happen. Nobody could possibly expect that Astrid, sensible, solid Astrid, would be naked and tied up and masturbating in the storage room.

Nothing would happen.

My hesitation sealed my fate. If I'd just ripped all the bandages off and got dressed, I might have got away with it.

But I didn't. I heard the door open.

I remained frozen on the table, bare-arsed and face down, mortified with embarrassment. I couldn't see and I couldn't talk.

I still had the feeling that whoever it was might leave without seeing me.

But the footsteps got closer, and I felt my body flushing crimson with shame.

And then there was a pause. A long, agonising pause.

I made an involuntary whimper. There was no way that anyone with access to the building couldn't recognise me. They knew it was me. They could see what I was doing.

At the very least, massive embarrassment and tons of explaining. At worst, I was fired.

I waited, trembling.

But then I felt the smooth fingers stroking my bare bum.

Of all the things that could happen, I didn't expect this. I was actually shocked, and made an indignant 'MMMMFF!'

But I was in no position to protest. I could do nothing, and the fact of my being blindfolded and gagged enabled me to keep up the comforting fiction that I wasn't recognised.

The fingers went between the tops of my thighs, and touched me there.

I moaned again. Part of me knew that this was assault, no more, no less, but... the fact remained that if I had wanted to break out of my bandage bondage, I could have, easily.

But I didn't.

I remained, face down, on the table, moaning as my assailant began to stroke me.

Whoever they were, they were very good. They really knew how to arouse a woman, or at least how to arouse me. I began to lose the struggle against this, I shuddered and gave more muffled moans as desire flowed through me. I felt their strong fingers massaging my vulva and stroking around my clit and I squirmed on the table, helpless, knowing that they must be enjoying the sight of my strong naked body all trussed up and blinded and making muffled moans of desire.

Because, as usual, I couldn't help it. As I got more and more aroused, I began to moan louder, and the louder I moaned, the less self-conscious I became, and the more I began to sink into my secret, safe place where I was tightly bound and blind and nothing but a vessel for my own pleasure.

'MMMMM! MMMMM! MMMM!' My moans got higher and more hoarse, and I squirmed, rubbing my naked legs together, feeling this person taking me by my most intimate body part. The friction of the tabletop on my bare nipples sent a thrill through me.

And then I heard the faint buzzing sound, and then...

... a vibrator was slowly pushed into my vagina.

I could hardly help it, I was making muffled screams into my gag as I was penetrated by another person for the first time. The feeling of the vibrator inside me, coupled with the smooth strong fingertips stroking me, made me arc my back and throw my head back and give a stifled cry. I was coming, in waves, lying on the table, my pussy being manipulated and penetrated by this stranger.

It seemed to go on for a long time, but it was probably only a few minutes.

At last the waves of orgasm went down, and I was a spent, sweaty, panting heap. I felt the vibrator being eased out of me, and then the footsteps rapidly receded, and the door opened and shut.

I was gloriously sated.

But I was also hugely embarrassed.

And I couldn't figure out if the embarrassment enhanced the feeling of satisfaction, or took away from it.

I just knew that I had been made to come, on a table, by some unknown person. They had seen me in a private moment, and had taken advantage of me, and had done something to me that had nevertheless given me huge pleasure.

But it was still an invasion.

But I had enjoyed it.

After a long moment, I eased my arms and stretched the bandage, loosening it and then ripping it.

I reached up and pulled my blindfold off and then my gag.

I was damp and chilly and shivering.

I took the bandages off my limbs and balled them up and then dragged my clothes back on. I put the bandage in my bag, to dispose of later.

Then, weary and puzzled and still cringing inwardly with humiliation, but feeling my body at a kind of peace, I went through the studio turning off all the lights, and finally locked up, made my bike ready and cycled home.

That night I slept in the buff, for the first time in years.

***

The thought preoccupied me over the weekend: Who had that been?

I felt it had to have been a woman, because the fingers had been so slim and few man carried a vibrator around with them (and not many women, I figured.) But who? One of my students? One of my colleagues? If it was one of my colleagues, who would have been so bold and shameless as to do that? We were yoga teachers, not sexual predators.

By the time Monday came around I was none the wiser, and was so baffled that I was starting to think I'd dreamed the whole thing.

Monday's classes went by as normal.

But when I was out of the shower in the evening, and standing naked in the changing room rummaging through my stuff for my briefs, I found a note, small and square, printed with a computer printer in Times New Roman.

It said simply, 'Storage Room. Tomorrow. 8.30pm. Be ready.'

I felt the room spin slightly and looked around, nervous, to see if anyone was covertly watching me, but nobody was.

Well, I thought, that's some bloody cheek.

Somebody barges in on me during a very private moment and takes advantage of me (you loved it, said a little voice at the back of my mind), and now they want me to give a second performance?

I felt outraged.

And also excited.

But one thing I certainly wasn't going to do was be in the storage room at 8.30 on Tuesday night, trussed-up and naked and blindfolded and waiting.

No way.

***

The following evening, at 8.30, I was on the storage room table.

I was naked and on my belly. I had brought my ropes from home, and was more securely tied this time. I was wearing a ball gag and a black sleeping mask with pads that kept my eyelids pressed shut.

I knew that I was doing something insane. That this would totally come back and bite me. I was not some porn star, I was a respectable young yoga teacher. (Come on, thirty-four is still young.)

I waited. My hands were under me, covering my pussy.

And then it occurred to me: what if whoever it was didn't want to do it again?

What if this was about blackmail?

I inwardly cursed myself for being so stupid. Because if it was about blackmail, I'd just laid myself open to it again, by stripping off and tying myself up and lying here like a life size Astrid doll.

I began to think. Could I get free and get dressed in under a minute? Probably not.

Then I thought again: what if I turned the tables on my blackmailer, by making out that they had done this to me? That would be more in keeping with what everyone knew about me: that I was friendly and helpful and solid but not some perverse risk-taker. That I would be more likely to be the victim of someone who wanted to strip me and tie me up and then have their way with me.

I lay there, sweating (it was hot in the room and I was tense), and then I heard the footsteps.

They grew closer, then the door opened.

I heard the door close, then the footsteps came closer still.

I lay on my belly, tied up, naked, blindfolded, gagged, tense and trembling slightly.

Then I felt hands unbuckling the ball gag.

It was taken off me.

I didn't know what to say or do next. I heard faint rustling noises.

'Who are you?' I said at last.

There was no answer.

'We can't be doing this. This is all wrong.'

Still no answer. More faint rustling noises.

'I was having a private moment, and you took advantage of me. And... I know I'm here now, but... this is so, so, so wrong. We can't do it. You should just go.'

Then, I felt hands on my shoulders swivelling my body.

'What are you doing,' I said with alarm, but then a hand pressed on the back of my cropped head and my face came into contact with what I realised was a stranger's exposed pussy.

I smelt the unfamiliar smell of another woman: clean but with a faint animal odour.

'Oh god,' I muttered.

I heard a faint sigh, and then, to leave me in no doubt about what I was expected to do, the stranger pushed her crotch into my face and rubbed it against me.

Her hands guided my head and soon my mouth was on her vulva. I felt I had no option. I experimentally licked her, and she sighed. I had never been this close to anyone else's genitals before, and I had no real idea what to do, so I just imagined what someone else might do to me, if I were in her position and that other person were in mine.

I licked and nuzzled and tasted and put my tongue inside her, and she began to breathe heavily.

I actually found myself getting turned on by the fact that I could turn someone else on by doing this. It was a bit hard on my neck, but I'm a yoga teacher: I breathed into it and relaxed, and soon I was eagerly doing whatever I could do to make her moan and shiver.

She rewarded me by stroking my bare shoulders and arms. If I was going to be her trussed-up naked sex slave, I was going to do it properly.

But then, just as we were both getting more aroused (my hands under my own crotch were working at my pussy), the table shifted and I realised that someone else had got onto it.

I made a startled 'MMFF!', and then I got even more alarmed when I felt the ropes on my ankles and thighs getting loosened.

I couldn't have been more vulnerable: tied from the waist up, blind, naked and with my arse sticking up behind me.

And then, to my shock, I felt my strong legs getting parted and something warm pressing at my vulva.

It was a man. It had to be. A partner of the woman who was making me lick and suck her to orgasm.

I made another muffled moan of protest, but here's the thing: I could have heaved about and screamed blue murder and tried to throw him off, me.

But I didn't.

He stroked my pussy, and to my mortification I felt myself getting wet. It was something to do with how there were two of them, at either end of me, and I was helpless and bound and naked in the middle.

I just squirmed as I felt his cock penetrate me and slide into my vagina.

Now it was happening: I was being made to eat out a woman while a man was fucking me from behind. I moaned in humiliation as he grasped my thighs and pumped into me. From time to time he slapped my naked buttocks, making me give muffled yelps.

I was sinking into myself, living only in the feeling of what was being done to my body: my mouth made to pleasure another, while my pussy was occupied by his penis. It was far more intense than my solitary masturbation. I was crimson with shame and with arousal, whimpering helplessly as I squirmed on the tabletop.

Why was this so arousing, when I'd never been attracted to people before? I think because it was being done to me. I didn't have to do anything except serve the woman with my mouth, and the guy with my pussy. I didn't need to smile or look anyone in the eye or kiss anyone--except the mystery woman, and not out of romance or affection but so as to get her off.

Soon I was soaked in sweat and felt limp, but then I felt the woman shuddering and she moaned softly as she came, her juices spilling over my chin. The man pumping into me pumped harder and faster and then, abruptly, he pulled out, and I felt his cock spilling semen into the cleft of my buttocks.

I sagged. In spite of my humiliation, I was disappointed. I had been just on the verge of coming myself, but they had got there first.

But it wasn't over. The table shifted as the man got off, and then I felt him re-tying the ropes on my thighs and ankles.

I lay there for a moment, tightly bound as before, and then I felt the ball gag being placed back in my mouth and fastened again; then the table shifted again, and this time I felt the bare legs of a woman mounting my thighs.

And something flexible and smooth falling into the crack of my bum.

It was slippery and not alive, but artificial, and as the woman moved, I realised that she had put on a strap-on dildo.