The last class of the day empties out fast. Mats rolled, door swinging, the room dropping into that heavy quiet it always does. Then there is you, still on your mat in the back corner, not packing anything up.
I take the long way past the window and start stretching again. Slow. One leg, then the other, because the light is good and because I already know you are watching. You do not even try to hide it. I feel it land on my back, my shoulders, lower.
I hold a fold longer than I need to. Breathe out. Let the shirt ride up. When I come back to standing I look straight at you and keep looking, and you do not look away, and that is the second the room changes.
I walk over. No hurry. I crouch at the edge of your mat, close enough that you have to decide where to put your eyes, and I tell you to breathe in. You do. Out, slower. Your hands go still on your knees. I lay one of mine flat between your shoulder blades and press, just enough, and your whole spine gives.
Now I set the rhythm. In. Down. Again. You follow me without thinking about it, and somewhere in there you stop breathing like a student and start breathing like a man who wants something. I feel exactly when it happens. I let it build. I do not move my hand.
The lamp above us clicks off on its timer and neither of us reaches for the switch. Nobody is coming back to this room tonight, and you can already tell I am not finished with you. More of me, unfiltered, on OnlyFans.