Yoga practice

Csoky takes one look at the trainee’s tight black leggings hugging every curve and his cock twitches against his loose pants. She is young, bendy, and completely unaware how filthy his mind already is. He walks behind her, places his hands on her hips under the pretense of correcting her stance, and feels the heat radiating through the thin fabric. A slow squeeze turns into a firm grip. She doesn’t pull away. Instead she lowers her chest toward the mat, pushing her round ass back until it brushes the hard ridge straining his waistband. He drops to his knees. The mat is still warm from her body. Without a word he hooks his thumbs into her leggings and peels them down, exposing smooth olive skin and a neat strip of dark hair. Her pussy is already glistening. He leans in, drags his tongue once along her slit, then stands again and frees his cock. She looks over her shoulder, lips parted, and sinks to her elbows. The new angle puts her mouth at the perfect height. She takes him without hesitation. Warm, wet suction pulls him deeper until her nose presses against his stomach. Spit coats his shaft in shiny strands that drip onto the mat. Every time she swallows, her throat flutters around the head. He lets her set the rhythm for a few strokes, then grabs a handful of dark hair and fucks her face in short, controlled thrusts. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes but she never breaks eye contact. He pulls out with a wet pop, lifts her onto all fours, and drives straight into her soaked pussy. The stretch makes her moan. He fucks her hard enough that her knees skid on the mat, then flips her onto her back, folds her legs to her chest, and pounds deeper. Her small breasts bounce with every thrust. When his balls tighten he pulls free, strokes twice, and paints thick white ropes across her flushed face—cheek, lips, lashes—until she is glazed and gasping.