A Secret Revealed

The words hung in the air.

"I love you."

I guess I did still, despite all of the aggravation over the years. Beth apparently sensed it during our infrequent interaction and used it against me. Gaining compromises when I shouldn't offer any. Making it clear how happy she was with our divorce, knowing that I was not. I did love her, feeling it as my penis lay inside of her bottom, limp. That was the "why."

My ex wife, feeling my hands release their grip, crawled out from under me, her bottom essentially throwing up my penis. She stood up, kicking me hard as she bent down to grab her yoga pants, frantic to put them on. Her body was shaking from our recent encounter, thinking of the lewd and disgusting things that Beth had let me do. Thinking it was her yoga instructor. The blindfolds had done their job.

I looked up at her, almost becoming aroused again as her nursing tits swung back and forth as Beth quickly pulled up her yoga pants and hid the bald pussy she so carefully prepared for today's adventure. Ken, her yoga instructor, was young and hot and muscular. Beth was middle age, losing her beauty, and a mom. They were the perfect match for each other.

Instead, today, she got me. Ken had been taping her sessions and I had walked into his enterprise, catching him in the act. With the upper hand, not only did he turn over the thousands of hours he had recorded of various girls and woman over the years, he willfully and eagerly agreed to blindfold Beth for a yoga lesson and let me be the "instructor."

Beth performed every pose to the best of her ability. Some naked. Some in her wonderfully hot yoga outfit. Salute, Downward Dog, Cow, Camel, Stretching Cat, Happy Baby -- my personal favorite, Garland, Plow, Corpse, Wide Leg Stance, and finally, Puppy. Every crevice, every inch of her body was exposed in the process. And Ken filmed it all. It was a porn for the ages.

Beth grabbed her coat and ran for the door, holding it against her. She just wanted out of the room, leaving her green leotard and shoes behind. The initial shock, which turned to anger, then grief, was now forming rage.

"You just fucking raped me. I'm going to RUIN you!"

With that, Beth ran out the door. I imagine she put on her coat before getting to her car. But, in her state, I assumed it was a fifty fifty bet.

Ken opened the door, slightly nervous, but smiling.

"Jesus, that was pretty wicked. What do you think she is going to do?"

I moved over to my own pants, looking down at the brown smudges on my penis as I pulled them up. I wondered how I could bottle the material as a reminder of the days events. I guessed the video would be enough.

"Nothing. What's she going to tell them? Or her husband? No, she'll do nothing."

Ken's phone suddenly buzzed. He looked down at it.

"It's Elizabeth..."

Apparently she was going to do a little more than nothing. Ken read the text.

"You make me sick. I hope you like jail."

Ken did not seem happy to get the text. I calmed him down.

"Don't worry. If anyone show up, just tell them I knocked you out when you stepped into your office. I would put something in front of the mirror, though."

Ken seemed appreciative at the suggestion and my willingness to take the fall.

"Just give me the card from the camera and I'll leave."

The camera was basically thrown at me.

"Take the camera too. I want nothing to do with this anymore. I'm getting married and am happy to be rid of all of this shit."

I bent down and grabbed Beth's shoes and then moved over to the small, green piece of fabric on the ground. I held it up and admired the thin g string, wondering how in the hell Beth knew where to insert her legs. Ken sighed as he looked at it.

"Man, she sure looked good in that."

I had to agree. However, as I walked out, I turned to Ken, probably seeing him for the last time.

"But, christ, she sure looked better out of it."

Ken smiled. I shut the door and left.

I walked in a bit of a dazed stupor. My body had recovered from the sexual marathon, but my mind seemed stuck. I just kept going over and over the various yoga poses that Beth willingly put herself through. How did she get herself into the situation? And I guess it wasn't really a situation, the more I thought about it. It was a state of mind, a need. Her husband Frank didn't seem to be the type to be mean to her, but who knows what goes on behind closed doors. Almost every married couple I have been around spends half of their time arguing or bickering. I guess Beth and Frank were probably no different.

Still, what is the process that takes a woman from taking yoga classes to letting the instructor take her yoga ass. Does she just walk up and tell the guy that she wants to have sex with him? Does she start to masturbate in one of her poses and the instructor joins in? How did Beth get from point A, a married woman with two kids, to point B, a hot and horny milf pulling down her pants for the hottest 20 something stud she knows?

Approaching my bank on the way home, I realized the answer was not far away. The cards, the tapes, were all in my safety deposit box. The hundred plus woman all recorded by Ken during his private lessons. I pulled in, grabbed the card from the camera, and entered my bank. I was going to make a deposit and a withdrawal. Beth's last tape was going to be traded for her first.

I thumbed through the cards, again amazed at the sheer number of woman and cards. Beth was number 62, and I hoped that the cards were numbered. Sure enough, Ken was an organized deviant. I put the most recent card in and grabbed the 30 gig storage device clearly marked with a "1" in permanent marker. I slipped it in my pocket and left the bank.

It had been at least 30 minutes since I last saw Beth and not a peep. From her, her lawyer, her husband, the police. Nobody. I turned down my street, imagining a row of squad cars storming my house. Instead, it was perfectly quiet. Beth was certainly mad, and could be an incredible devious bitch at times, but I knew she was not stupid. If she spoke to anyone, her stay at home mom life would be over. And, she'd have to find another husband to marry, spread her legs for, and bear children for. Even though it was all she knew how to do to secure her future, it was not something she wanted to do a third time.

I walked into my house and grabbed a beer. Sure, it was lunch time on a Tuesday, but I had accomplished everything I wanted for the day. I was going to relax, thinking of the the memory stick in my pants. Wondering what was on it. Would it simply be a series of lessons, Beth not yet allowing herself to be violated? Maybe it was Beth in the larger class as he scouted her out. Who knew, which was why I walked to my desk to observe the material.

I put it in. The computer opened up the folder, showing a list of 6 different files of various sizes, but all substantial in size. The smallest was 4 gig, the largest 7.4. What I was looking for was the oldest date. And there it was, about 2 months after she gave birth to Emma, the daughter she had with her current husband. I double clicked the file.

The moment of Beth's first private yoga lesson was going to be relived.

...

"Hi, I'm Elizabeth."

Oh my god, I said Elizabeth way too loud! I practically yelled it at him. What is my problem? Just calm down. Your not some girl in high school, for christ sake.

"Hey, I recognize you from class. I'm Ken, but, I guess you already know that."

What a smile, wow. He is cute, no doubt about that. 25, maybe, but certainly not older. Nobody over 25 has arms that look so good. And his chest, fuck, his chest is shaped nicely. Just look at his eyes, don't let him catch you checking him out. Those hazel eyes, smiling at me, staring right into my soul. And man, he's a tall boy. My tall yoga instructor. He's looking at me, waiting to speak. It's my turn. Quit staring. Speak, Elizabeth. He'll think you're a freak!

"Yea, I'm in the Wednesday night class. It's really amazing."

Amazing? What are you, a girl from The Bachelor, where everything is amazing this, and amazing that? Get a grip. Sure, he has on some tight yoga sweats, and wow, his shirt is really hugging his body. Oh, fuck, I just licked my lips. Did he notice? Bite your teeth together and do not let that happen again. Fuck, why is he so hot?

"Well, thanks. It really is a great group, so I'm glad you're able to be a part of it."

Incredible. What a perfect way to respond. Respectful of the group and appreciative of me, all in one sentence. He sounds pretty articulate for a yoga instructor, almost smart. I bet he went to a great college. He looks like he could get in to any school he wanted. Oh, christ, why am I taking a yoga class from such a young guy that I have nothing in common with? You know why. Because he's hot, that's why.

"Yea, they are great."

Great? You don't know a single sole in the class, you moron. Who's great, that fat dude that was behind you, the guy you kept catching in the mirror as he stared at your ass? The women who look hideous in the tight yoga pants, fat bulging in all of the wrong places? God, I'm so glad to have nobody around from the class. That it is just you and me.

"So, have you ever had private yoga class before?"

Do I look like I've had a private yoga class before? This mom with baby fat all over her? The lady who just gave birth two months ago? Seriously, you are cute, but not very smart or observant.

"No. I thought I'd give it a shot when I read about the program on your blog. I figured I save myself some embarrassment and actually learn what I'm supposed to be doing!"

Oh, nice. Play the ignorant student looking for help from the teacher. Way to not sound desperate for attention. And can you try not to laugh so hard at your own jokes? It wasn't even that funny. Although, he is laughing with you. Man, you look cute when you laugh.

"Ha. It does help to get some of the basics down, so I completely understand. What do you want to try and work on?"

Work on? Oh my god, do I have to say it? It's so embarrassing. Why did you have to ask? Now, I have to talk about how big it is. And then you'll look at it. And then I'll just die. What should I say? Oh, this was such a mistake. Just say it. He's looking at you. You're waiting! You're making it worse. Just rip it off like a band-aid and say it, for gods sake!

"Oh, well, I guess my legs, and, uh, my bottom...."

Your bottom? Are you fricking six? Seriously. Christ, if you don't want to say butt, or ass, or gluttes, or rear, just say the usual! Every woman wants to work on their ass. Is there a place to crawl out of here? Did you see his eyes, almost laughing at the word? I mean, come on woman. Get your shit together.

"Your legs and your bottom. I have to say, you are not the first, you won't be the last, and every one in between says the same thing. But here, let me take your coat and then we can walk over to the wall of poses."

What a smooth guy. He didn't even flinch at the word or make me feel funny for saying it. You see, just relax. This is what he does all the time. It is only you who are making things weird. And a gentleman, offering to take my coat. He's coming up behind me. His hands are on my shoulders. Oh, christ, he'll be able to see my huge butt. Just be sure to thrust out your chest. Your nursing and engorged. Everyone looks. You know they do. Make sure he does.

"Here, I'll just put it over in the corner."

He didn't even give you a second glance. You spent all morning getting ready, doing your hair, makeup, nails, putting on your new yoga pants and top. For what? For nothing. He just took your coat and walked away. But christ, what was he supposed to do, stand and stare? Tell you how hot you are? Seriously? Get real. He's seen much younger girls wear much less. You have your yoga mom outfit on.

His butt sure looks good as he walks away, though, doesn't it? Yours might be flabby, but his is definitely firm. God, and now he's turned around. Look at the small bulge in his pants, the man version of a camel toe. Fuck, is that hot. But shit! He's walking towards me! Pretend you were looking at something else! Anything! Quick, before it is too late?

"So, what are those balls for?"

You IDIOT. Can you find something else to ask about besides the giant rubber balls in the corner? I mean, come on! Sure, it was the first thing you noticed, but can you try to filter out the word "balls" from your vocabulary. Please.

"They are to help with stretching and practice some of the harder poses."

He's looking at your outfit. Stand tall. Make a good impression. Smile. Push up your shoulders, and try to suck in your stomach. This is your first impression. Make it count. The black yoga pants might hug your bulky bottom, but the hot pink top hugs your bulky top. You wore the one with a large cleavage for a reason.

"I like your outfit. It's really cute. And those shoes, where did you get them? I've not seen them before."

He likes. He's looking at your shoes, so he's noticing all of you. Stand tall. Stand proud. He's eyes are still locked on them. Looking. Lingering. And then, hello eye's. They have found your cleavage. Staring, admiring. Stripping. He was a good boy, waiting an appropriate time. But, eventually, he had to look. Oh, you are so proud, grinning, knowing you are the worlds biggest tease.

"Oh, from Macy's...."

Eye contact again, and Ken is slightly blushing. Oh, you are so busted. My eyes see in your eyes that you know my eyes saw your peek. Can you see in my eyes that I see in your eyes you liked what your eyes saw?

"Well, your definitely one of my best dressed yoga clients. So...let's walk over here...."

Yes, I'll walk behind you, staring at the fabric bunching between those cute buns.

"So, Elizabeth, your request is pretty common. But, I must say...here...stand here. Now look at the mirror behind you."

Oh my god, there is a mirror here on the carpeted area. I don't want to see my own butt. I know what it looks like. But, he's looking at it. Staring at it. Waiting for me to join him looking at my ass. I guess I'll have to turn around. Oh my god, my yoga pants are buried in the crack of my bottom. And my butt cheeks are outlined perfectly.

"Look at the girls in the pictures, and look at yourself. There really is not much difference, so, we can focus on your butt for now because you want to, but your body is proportioned perfectly, and it's important to have yoga work with your entire body."

Oh my god, what a good salesman. There is no way it is close to the girls in the pictures. Maybe that one, the round Kate Upton type. I'd say she has a bit more cushion than I do. But, not that girl with the tight yoga shorts and tank top. Maybe when I was 16, but certainly not now.

"Well, thanks, but it's just a little softer than it used to be."

Just a little. Ha. More like, just a lot of motherly baby baggage.

"Alright. Well, I've got a group of poses that I generally work people through for lower body. We do it for forty five minutes, and then, for the last fifteen, we do a cool down workout or massage. It's up to you, but really, what you do after yoga is just as important as yoga itself."

I don't think so, buddy. In your dreams. I'm not some 18 year old who has no clue about the purpose of your massage. Spare me.

"Well, I'll probably just do the cool down. I'm not much of a massage person."

Sorry to disappoint.

"Sure, whatever you feel comfortable with. But for now, here are the 6 poses we would work through today, and if you come back, we can always add more."

Oh my god, if I hear the word Downward Dog again, I'll flip. It's so embarrassing when the whole class is looking around, some of the girls giggling off to the left. Thank god nobody will be behind me, staring at my ass. That was number one reason for getting out of the class. I cannot do those any more in front of people, especially when I keep tipping over and can't hold my balance.

"So... We'll start with the Cobra.."

Not bad, just lying on my stomach, but well, isn't she just poking out her chest.

"Then Upward Facing Plank Pose..."

For my legs? Seriously? How does looking at the sky on my hands and toes help my butt?

"Here is Bridge with a Kick in this picture."

Oh, right, I'll almost be able to do that.

"And Divers Pose..."

How do women bend so tightly and make it look so graceful?

"Three Legged Dog..."

Oh, of course. A dog pose. My god, who comes up with this stuff? It may work, but I mean, really, does it need the name?

"And, because you look like a goddess, it is only appropriate that we end with the goddess."

Wow. Now that is a pretty pose. And, he called me a goddess! Way to earn some browning points. But sorry, it's still no massage for you today.

"First, though, you should probably take off your shoes."

My shoes. Right. I completely forgot. My mistake. The standard on one knee and take them off should work. And I feel his eyes, looking directly down into my shirt. My breasts are slightly bulged between my arms. Stop trying to show them off, pretending you are not. Don't lie to yourself, Beth.

"Here. I'll put them with your coat."

Whoa, hello Ken, leaning into me as I stand up. On my bare feet, toes polished a bright red. Take my shoes, thank you, and place them over by my coat. Butt walking away again. Penis walking back. I'm looking at your eyes, but there it is, bulging in my peripheral vision. I see it. I wonder if he sees that I see it. His eyes are mysterious. His lips full. He's talking again. Listen.

"Do you have any questions? Thoughts?"

Questions? Like, how do you expect me to put my body in those positions? Thoughts? Nope. None. Your smiling all of the time makes it pretty hard to think. And, you have a dimple. My mind is blank.

"Nope. All set."

God. The time has come. He's sliding a mirror to the top of the matt, opposite the wall mirror, creating a an infinite series of reflections. It's a little freaky.

"Great. Then, here, we'll use this matt right in between these mirrors. To get better, it really helps to watch yourself. I'll do the pose first, show you what to do, and then we'll spend about 5 minutes with you on each one."

I have to watch myself make a fool of myself? Can we just turn the mirrors off? I don't want to watch myself get better, stay the same, or get worse. But, whoa. You are lying down right in front of me, looking long and muscular, staring at me in the mirror. There are your twins. I guess I don't mind watching. That butt. Flexing. Back arching, head lifting.

"Now, for the cobra, this is the goal. Hold your head high, stomach on the ground, and arch your back as hard as you can, trying to point your chest right at the mirror.

Look at you, getting into the pose so effortlessly, so smoothly, and then casually standing next to me, expecting me to repeat it that easily? Seriously? Can you do that again? I've already forgot.

"So...just get down and lie on my stomach?"

Christ, I'm bending down right in front of him, letting him get a nice view of my butt. He's just standing there, not doing anything. Watching me lie down for him, crushing my chest. My breasts better not leak. That would bring things to a quick end. My arms are by my side, legs together. And, now, arch... Holy crap, my back is not happy with the sudden movement.

"Pretend you are pushing your shoulders back..."

Ken's kneeling next to me. My face is breathing hard, puffing out. This is not a very flattering experience. But, my hair looks awesome. And my lips still have their bright red. Look at yourself, stretching, lifting up your chest. Pushing it out. Boobs straining against your yoga top. Exposing your bra, the white sheer skin that is an official top portion of an engorged breast making an appearance.