The studio lights had dimmed to a soft amber after the last students filed out. Mats were rolled, blocks stacked, the faint scent of eucalyptus and sweat lingering in the air. Ryan stayed behind—twenty-six, new to the advanced class, always lingering at the back row where he could watch Nadia move through poses with effortless command. Thirty-five, lithe and strong, dark hair pulled into a high knot, she carried herself like she owned every inch of the room. She did.
“You’re still here,” she observed, voice low and amused, locking the front door with a decisive click. Ryan remained on his mat in child’s pose—forehead to the floor, ass up—exactly as she’d instructed at the end of savasana.
“Lie down,” she said. “Flat on your back.”
He obeyed instantly, heart hammering. Nadia stepped over him, feet planted on either side of his head, then lowered herself slowly—straddling his face in her black high-waisted leggings. The fabric was thin, already dark with arousal at the crotch. She pressed down, grinding her soaked pussy against his mouth through the material. The heat, the musk, the slight friction of spandex made him groan into her. She rolled her hips deliberately—slow circles, then firmer drags—using his face like a tool for her pleasure.
“Breathe me in,” she commanded. “Taste how wet you make me.”
His tongue pressed flat against the seam, lapping at the damp fabric, desperate to get closer. Nadia moaned softly, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him tighter against her. She rode his mouth harder—grinding faster, smothering him with her weight until his breaths came in short, muffled gasps between her thighs. The leggings grew wetter, clinging transparently to her swollen lips. She controlled every inhale, every exhale—only lifting slightly when his lungs burned, then dropping again to claim him fully.
After long minutes of teasing torment she finally peeled the leggings down—slowly, inch by inch—revealing smooth, glistening skin. No panties. She settled bare over his mouth, clit pressed directly to his tongue.
“Now worship properly,” she ordered.
Ryan dove in—tongue flat and eager, lapping long strokes from entrance to clit before flicking rapid circles around the swollen bud. Nadia rode him hard—hips rolling, grinding down, smothering him again. She fucked his face with ruthless rhythm—controlling the pace, the pressure, the depth of his breath. Her moans grew louder, thighs trembling around his ears. When she came it was sudden and fierce—flooding his mouth with hot release, body shuddering as she ground through the waves, drenching his chin, his cheeks, his nose. He drank her down, tongue still working until she lifted just enough to let him gasp.
She didn’t give him long to recover. “You’ve earned this,” she said, sliding down his body until she straddled his hips. His cock was painfully hard, leaking against his stomach. She guided him inside her—slow, deliberate—sinking down until he filled her completely. They both groaned at the tight, wet heat.
Nadia rode him with the same commanding control—rolling hips, clenching around him, breasts bouncing beneath her cropped tank. Between thrusts she lifted forward, planting her pussy back over his mouth—making him lick her clean while she stroked his cock with her hand. Then back down—impaling herself again, riding harder. She switched positions fluidly—still sitting on his face between fucks—smothering him with her dripping sex while she edged him mercilessly.
“Don’t come yet,” she warned each time his hips jerked too desperately. “Not until I say.”
She came twice more—once grinding on his tongue, once riding his cock deep and fast—each orgasm leaving her trembling, thighs quivering around him. Only when she’d taken her third peak—body arching, a low cry echoing off the studio mirrors—did she finally give permission.
“Now,” she breathed. “Fill me.”
Ryan thrust up hard—once, twice—burying deep as he came with a broken groan, pulsing hot inside her in thick, shuddering spurts. Nadia clenched around him, milking every drop, riding through his release until he was spent, shaking beneath her.
She collapsed forward—still straddling his face loosely—letting him taste their combined release while his breathing steadied. Her fingers stroked through his sweat-damp hair, gentle now.
“Good boy,” she murmured. “You took your instruction well.”
Ryan smiled against her thigh—dazed, sated, utterly hers. The studio lights glowed low around them; outside, the city moved on. Inside, class had ended—but the lesson was only beginning.
After-Class Worship
