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Title: “Whispering Asanas: A Yoga threesome that’s Wicked Good”
By Pippa Paradox
Yoga is an ancient practice that brings peace and flexibility to the body, mind and soul. But imagines if you will, a yoga session that breaks all the rules – a namaste-ian mantra morphing into a dirty symphony, lithe limbs intertwining in moves that are anything but serene. Welcome to the tantalizing world of sensual yoga, where stretching meets stroking in a triple dose of ecstasy.
Picture, if you will, a dimly lit studio, heavy with the scent of sandalwood incense. Mistress Canela saunters in, bronzed skin shimmering like a caramel fantasy. Her yoga pants cling to a booty that could stop traffic and her sports bra barely contains the girls. She may be here for spiritual enlightenment, but with those jaws on the floor, she might just find something else instead.
M класстинstress Canela sets out two mats with silky pans on the floor. Her yoga partners for today are Drea, a smoldering brunette with curves like a grand slam and Roxy, a petite minx with a tongue piercing that promises divine ministrations. The trio settles spine by spine, backs together for some contentious cat-cow sweeps. Their eyes lock with undeniable hunger.
They start an easy flow – cobra’s rise, supple spine arched like synced hiccups while they trade wicked grins. Next, they move to the Warrior II pose, ribcage flaring, hips cast wide. Mistress Canela’s strong hands rise to cup her chest, thumbing her nipples into stiff peaks. Drea and Roxxy groan in unison, finger walking their naked skin to mirror their goddess’s provocations.
The session has just begun, but these kittens are keyed up, ready to throw all the asanas out the window. As they move into bound angle, snug pink snatches on display, Mistress Canela glides a glistening palm down the tent of her pants, giving her clit a firm tweak. Liquid gushes from her swollen lips, and the other two fell the wetness flooding the air.
It’s time to kick things into high gear. They dance an all-glessing low camel, their musky pheromones perfume the sauna-hot room as they writhe, back flexing into sexy camel bumps. Then Mistress Canela rolls onto her back, hands gliding up her taut abdomen to cup her tits. Pincer pulls and teasing finger swirls have the boss on her way.
“Girls, my aching clit needs some attention,” Mistress Canela whimpers. Like a graceful dance, they crawl over to their mistress. Miss Drea dives between those milk-bronze thighs, lapping unerringly at that dripping snatch. Roxxy flicks her tongue stud around pert nipples, teasing shrieks around a diamond-hard bud.
They’re lost in a scrum of slick female flesh when the door creaks open. A stunned yoga dude blinks in shock, eyes bugging out at the carnal display. Mistress Canela crooks a finger at him, beckoning like a luring siren. “Give these girls a proper massage,” she orders in a husky purr. The lucky fucker flashes his bulge and staggers over, pupils blown with desire.
Mistress Canela starts the yardwork, oiling up her new toy until he glistens like a marble statue. His strong hands rub her burning snatch, fingers fucking her deep and hard. Her powerful thighs tense and relax, glutes clenching in ecstasy. The dude knows his way around a pussy, but his master is no slouch herself.
She gives his quivering cock a few pumps, then has him guiding it to her truly. Mistress Canela squeals as she sinks onto his thick rod, taking him to the hilt. The other girls are lost in sixty-nine, glazed in each other’s slippery cho-cho juice while they ball their eyes out.
Mistress Canela’s body writhes in a sensual corkscrew, her velvet walls rippling around his throbbing bone. She reaches around his head, hands fisted in his hair, tongue slurping on the back of his neck. Lost in pleasure, his hips jackhammer faster, balls slapping against her ass as he nears his summit.
With a shout, he explodes, gushing thick cream up into Mistress Canela’s spasming hole. The girls are right behind, undulating in giggly quakes as their clits pulse and throb. They collapse in a dreamy tangle of sweat-soaked limbs, panting smeary grins.
Mistress Canela stretches like a lazy cat, smacking her lips with satisfied smirks. “Namaste, my loves,” she trills. “Class dismissed.”
