The Yoga of My Friend’s Mother Changed That Summer

I’ve known Bruno since we both wore shorts and fought over the same video game. He’s that lifelong friend with whom you accumulate anecdotes you then tell at every family dinner to leave everyone speechless. We’d go out until impossible hours, drag ourselves back to his house and sleep half the morning before each of us went back to our life until the following weekend.

His parents split up when he was very little, so Bruno grew up with just his mother. Her name was Marisol, though the whole neighborhood knew her as Mari. She worked shifts at a clinic and was almost never home, which as teenagers had given us free rein to do whatever we wanted. But what I’m going to tell you didn’t happen back then. It happened later, the summer I was already twenty-two and had come back from the student apartment with a dead week ahead of me.

Physically, Mari had always been a spectacle. To this day I think Bruno’s father was an idiot for letting a woman like that go. Long, straight black hair, dark eyes, defined eyebrows, wide hips, and firm thighs belonging to someone who took very good care of her body. Big, round tits, the kind that show under any T-shirt and force you to look away if you don’t want to be caught staring. She had a low, calm voice that wrapped around you before you even realized it. As a kid, just hearing her speak made me nervous. As an adult, I should have known better than to let myself get out of control. I didn’t.

My parents had gone away on a trip to take advantage of their vacation, and since I no longer had any place in that plan, Mari offered to let me stay at her house those days, with Bruno, like when we were kids. I accepted without thinking. August, heat that made your shirt stick to your back, the patio pool, and the console late into the night. A perfect and, in theory, harmless plan.

The first morning I woke up early. Bruno was still snoring in his room, so I went to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and came out into the living room half asleep. And there she was.

Mari was lying on a mat on the floor, following a yoga video on the TV. A soft voice kept repeating breathing instructions. She was wearing tight gray leggings and a loose tank top, and she moved with focused slowness, as if I weren’t there. I froze in the doorway, not quite sure what to do with my hands.

—Good morning, Mari —I finally said.

—Good morning, sweetheart. Were you able to sleep with this heat? —she replied, barely opening her eyes.

—So-so. I think I’m sweating through my elbows. You, on the other hand, are already up and running.

—I like taking care of myself, you know that —she said, and for the first time turned her head to look at me.

I didn’t know how to continue the conversation. I was stuck on the way she supported herself on her forearms, on the line of her back, on how the leggings cut into her ass and outlined her cunt over the fabric, in a pose my twenty-two-year-old brain insisted on reading in the worst possible way. I already had a half-hard cock inside my pajama pants and not even a minute had passed. I cleared my throat and fled to the kitchen.

—Help yourself to whatever you want, there’s everything in the fridge —her voice came from the living room.

I grabbed some juice and cookies and ate breakfast standing up by the counter, pretending to look at my phone when really I was spying on her over the top of the screen. Every new pose was a small torture. She’s Bruno’s mother. She’s Bruno’s mother. I repeated it like a mantra that did absolutely nothing, because every time she spread her legs on the floor my eyes went to the bulge between her thighs and my cock got even harder.

When I finished, I left the glass in the sink and walked past her to go back down the hall. Mari, who at that moment was sitting cross-legged stretching her arms, looked up and gave me a smile that wasn’t entirely innocent.

—Do you want to do yoga with me? —she asked.

—Now? —I blurted, alarmed.

—Now. It’s the best time, before the heat really sets in. And it’ll be good for you; you look tense —she said, holding back a laugh, her eyes dropping for a second far too long to my crotch.

—Well. I guess it can’t hurt.

I got down beside her on the carpet, trying to hide the obvious, which was that I’d been feeling tension in places I shouldn’t for far too long. She rose smoothly and started guiding me.

—Stand here, next to me, and copy what I do. You don’t have to do it well, just breathe —she said.

I tried. I laughed at myself, and she laughed at me too, hard, every time I got tangled up or lost my balance in some ridiculous pose. Little by little I fell into her rhythm. The breathing, the stretching, the silence between instructions. For a while I almost forgot how awkward the situation was and simply followed her movements, attentive to her voice.

—I need you to help me with the next one —she said at one point—. Stand behind me and hold my hips to help me keep my balance.

—By the hips? —I repeated, my mouth dry.

—Yes. I’m going to lean forward with my hands on the floor, and I need you to hold me so I don’t fall. Ready?

—Ready —I lied.

***

I knelt behind her and put my hands on her hips. Mari leaned forward slowly, shifting her weight back, and suddenly her ass was pressed against my crotch. The brush of it stole my breath. Nothing else was needed. The thin fabric of the leggings, the warmth of her cunt pressing against the cock that had already gone completely hard, the way she settled against me without moving away: everything lined up so I lost all track of what I was doing.

—Hold me tight, don’t let go —she murmured, and moved her hips barely an inch, a motion so small and so clear that there was no room for doubt.

—I’ve got you —I answered, voice rough.

I don’t know exactly when the pose stopped being a pose. She didn’t pull away and I didn’t do anything to separate myself. My fingers tightened over her hips and, without deciding to, I pushed my pelvis against her. I felt my cock press all the way against the crack of her ass over the fabric. Mari let out a long, low sigh that had nothing to do with yoga breathing, and turned her head just enough to look at me over her shoulder.

—Are you okay? —she asked, and the question sounded like something else.

—Not really —I admitted.

—I can see that —she said, smiling—. More like I can feel it.

She was the one who finished erasing the distance. She rose slowly without separating from me, until she was standing with my chest against her back and my hands still on her waist. She tipped her head back, resting it on my shoulder, and let me breathe in the smell of her neck, a mix of lotion and warm sweat that finally clouded my judgment completely. With one hand she reached back and squeezed my cock through my pants, without any shame, measuring it like someone checking a piece of fruit.

—Fuck, sweetheart —she whispered—. You’re rock hard.

—This is insane —I said against her hair.

—It is —she said—. And I don’t feel like stopping. Do you?

I didn’t answer with words. I moved her hair aside and kissed her neck, slowly, and felt her skin rise under my lips. Her hands found mine and guided them: one to her tits, which filled my palm even through the sports bra, and the other straight between her legs, pressing it against the hot bulge that could be felt under the leggings. I rubbed her over the fabric and immediately felt the wetness, a warm ring forming exactly where it should. Marisol had been alone in that house for weeks, maybe months. She didn’t need to tell me; I understood it in the needy way she pressed against me and in how she spread her legs so I could keep fingering her.

—Like that, like that, harder —she panted—. It’s been too long since anyone touched me.

I slid my hand inside the waistband and found her soaked. She had a shaved cunt, swollen, the lips open and hot, a pool between my fingers. I ran my index and middle fingers up and down her slit and found her clit, hard as a little pebble. When I rubbed it in circles, Marisol grabbed the edge of the living room table so she wouldn’t fall.

—Oh, you son of a bitch, like that —she moaned through clenched teeth—. Put them in, put your fingers in me.

I drove two fingers into her to the knuckles. She was so wet they slid in on their own, and her cunt closed around them as if it didn’t want to let them go. I started fucking her with my fingers slowly, in and out, my palm bumping her clit with every thrust, while with my other hand I pulled her T-shirt up and took one tit out of the sports bra. I pinched her nipple, big and dark, and she arched her back against my chest.

—Suck on that —she asked me, her voice broken—. Come on, suck my tits.

I turned her around, lifted her shirt all the way up, and buried my face between her breasts. I sucked one nipple and then the other, tugging at them with my lips, carefully biting them, while I kept working her cunt with my hand. She found my pants, yanked them down, and took my cock out into the air. When she grabbed it with her free hand, without any clumsiness, and started jerking me off at the same rhythm as I finger-fucked her, I had to bite my lip to keep from coming right there.

—They’re going to catch us —I muttered, glancing toward the hall.

—The hall —I said between kisses—. If Bruno wakes up…

—He won’t wake up before noon, I know him —she replied, laughing against my mouth and not letting go of my cock—. Shut up and keep up with me.

***

Marisol had that confidence that only years give, the confidence of a woman who knows exactly what she wants and has no intention of pretending otherwise. She led me by the hand to the sofa, gently pushed me to sit, and stayed standing in front of me, watching me with a slow smile. She pulled down her leggings and thong in one motion and let them fall to the parquet. She was naked from the waist down, with her shirt rumpled over her tits, and she opened her legs with one knee to position herself between them.

—First I want to taste it —she said, and knelt between my thighs.

She took my cock by the base, brought it to her mouth, and looked up at me from below before sticking out her tongue and giving me a long lick, from my balls to the head. She licked her lips, smiled, and took all of me in. I felt her throat close around the tip and had to grab the back of the sofa so I wouldn’t groan too loudly. Marisol sucked me like she’d spent months practicing it in her head: up and down at a steady rhythm, helping herself with her hand at the base, pulling my cock out of her mouth to suck my balls and swallowing me again to the hilt. My crotch was covered in saliva, her chin too, all of it. When she noticed my thighs tensing, she pulled off, smiled, and gave my wet cock an affectionate little slap on the cheek.

—Oh, no. Not yet you don’t cum —she said—. Not yet.

She climbed on top of me astride. The warm weight of her body over mine, her black mane falling over her face, her wide hips molding to me. It was my teenage fantasy made real, multiplied by ten, because now she was the one setting the pace. She braced herself on my shoulders, reached under to find my cock with her hand, and slowly guided it to her cunt. When the head brushed her soaked lips, she closed her eyes for an instant and let out a long moan.

—Easy —she told me, stroking my jaw—. Don’t rush. We’ve got all morning.

She lowered herself slowly, impaling herself centimeter by centimeter. I slid all the way in with one dull thrust and felt her close around me, tight, wet, burning. Marisol let the air out with her mouth open and stayed still for a second, savoring me inside her, before starting to move. I kissed her neck, her collarbone, while she moved with a calculated slowness that had me on the verge of losing my mind. Every time I tried to speed up, she stopped me, held my wrists, made me wait. She enjoyed the control, seeing me hold myself back, rationing pleasure like someone administering something valuable. And I, who had come to that house convinced I knew a thing or two about life, discovered within minutes that I knew nothing.

—Is this okay? —she asked in my ear, in that low voice, going up and down just enough for my cock to slide in and out soaked with her juices.

—Better than okay —I panted—. Fuck, Mari, you’re so tight.

—Then hold on a little longer —she said, delighted by my desperation—. I want to come first, sweetheart. I want to come with your cock inside me.

I grabbed her ass with both hands and helped her move up and down, harder, deeper. Marisol changed rhythm, stopped torturing me and started fucking me for real, riding me with loose hips, bouncing in short hops on my cock and rubbing her clit against my pubis on every drop. Her tits bounced in front of my face and I caught her nipples with my mouth every so often, while she pressed my head against her chest and called me every name under the sun between moans.

—Oh, like that, give it to me hard, give me everything —she panted—. God, so long, so long I’ve been waiting for this.

I lifted her up in my arms without pulling out, turned her, and laid her on her back on the sofa. I knelt between her legs, lifted them up, and went down on her cunt before continuing. I spread her open with my thumbs and ran my whole tongue through her slit, tasting myself mixed with her juices. I sucked her clit with both hands, nibbled at it, buried my tongue as deep as I could. Marisol grabbed my hair and started grinding my face against her cunt without the slightest shame, moaning louder and louder and biting her arm so she wouldn’t scream.

—I’m coming, I’m coming, don’t stop, don’t stop —she repeated, and suddenly her thighs locked around my head and she crushed me against her. I felt the contractions under my tongue, the trembling running through her thighs, and a hot stream flooding my mouth. She came with strangled cries, covering her face with her forearm, and juices were dripping down my chin.

Before she’d even finished recovering I sat back up and shoved my cock back into her with one thrust. She was so wet, so open, so sensitive, that her cunt clattered with each push. I bent her legs against her chest to fuck her deep and started pumping for real, without restraint, my balls smacking her ass on every stroke. She let me do it with half-closed eyes, a smile of bliss on her mouth, and kept repeating “more, more, more” in my ear.

—Turn around —I asked her—. Get on all fours.

Marisol obeyed without protest, turned on the sofa, and offered herself to me with her ass in the air, her face pressed into a cushion to muffle her moans. I grabbed her hips and drove into her again. Fucking her from behind, watching my cock disappear all the way inside my best friend’s mother, with her ass bouncing against my stomach, was too much. I slapped her ass, then slapped it again, leaving two red handprints on her skin.

—Slut —I muttered without thinking—. What a slut you are.

—Yes, your slut —she answered between gasps—. Tear my cunt apart, sweetheart, tear it apart.

I held her by the back, she clutched the sofa cushions, and the whole morning was concentrated on that sofa, on her ragged breathing, on the way she kept repeating my name as if she were discovering it. When I couldn’t hold back any longer, I warned her.

—Mari, I’m going to come.

—Not inside —she panted, turning around abruptly—. Give it to me, give it to me in my mouth.

She got off the sofa and knelt in front of me again. She pulled my cock out of her cunt and took it into her mouth without caring about anything, without cleaning it, savoring herself. She sucked me three, four times, her eyes locked on mine, and that was enough. I came in spurts into her mouth, an orgasm so long I thought it would never end. Marisol swallowed some, let the rest run down her chin, and kept sucking me through the last spasm, until she got the last drop out of me. When she finally let go, she wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled at me, her mouth still shining.

We both ended up exhausted and tangled on the sofa, with summer light pouring in through the picture window. She collapsed against my chest, sweaty, and stayed there for a while listening to my heart racing. I stroked her back. We didn’t say anything for a good while, and the silence, far from being awkward, was the best part of all.

—Good thing your son sleeps like a log —I finally said, laughing under my breath—. If he’d come down, I don’t know how I’d explain this.

—Good thing, yes —she replied, kissing my chest—. Though something tells me you’d be able to make something up. Come on, help me clean up before he shows up.

We got up laughing, rearranged the sofa cushions, folded the mat, and left the living room exactly as it had been, as if absolutely nothing had happened there. I took a shower, got dressed, and went back to Bruno’s room with my heart still racing and a smile I couldn’t fit on my face.

I found him sitting in front of the computer, just awake, his eyes half open.

—Have you had breakfast yet? —he asked without turning around.

—Yeah, yeah. I ran into your mother in the living room —I answered, trying to keep my voice normal.

—And how is she?

—Fine —I said, and couldn’t help smiling—. She really likes yoga.

Bruno nodded without giving it any importance and went back to his screen. I let myself fall onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, knowing that this was going to be the longest and most interesting vacation week of my life. And that, from that morning on, I would never hear the word “yoga” the same way again.