A taste of chi, p.2
A Taste of Chi,
p.2
I was nothing but granules by the time Cormac found me.
He was at my next class. And the next. By the third week of watching him in the back row, I found myself looking forward to his arrival. So love at first sight? Not for us. Not for me. But I will say that ultimately, I was starting to melt. When he stayed after class, when he asked me for a little extra assistance, I found myself blushing.
I shouldn’t have had a problem touching him. I’d touched countless numbers of students over the years. Helping them to reach their goals. Assisting them in their quests to move forward. But when I put my hands on Cormac, once the two of us were all alone in the studio, I felt something unique.
Seven years’ worth of unstimulated emotions began to stir…2,555 days’ worth of pent-up sexual frustration began to bubble…61,320 hours’ worth of unfulfilled longing began to well up. I felt flushed, and I turned away, but he caught my hand.
“Are you okay?”
Andrew wouldn’t have asked me that. Andrew would have diagnosed me. “You look pale,” he would have said. “Try a juice fast for three days.” Cormac looked into my eyes and asked me again, “Are you okay?”
I thought of myself seven years before, when all I had wanted was for Andrew to fuck the living daylights out of me. Press me against the car. The floor. The wall. The dirt. Fuck me inside out. Fuck me silly.
“No,” I said, startled that I was almost crying. “I’m not.”
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Andrew would have taken me to a juice bar. Somewhere well-lit. Somewhere clean with freshly scrubbed workers who would have smelled of wheat grass and hearts of palm. Cormac took me to a dive bar. Dirty. Fucking God, the place was marred and scarred, graffiti on the graffiti. Back booth. Two shot order to the waitress in passing.
A shot? We were going to do shots? I hadn’t done a shot in…
“Seven years is a long time,” he said as he raised the glass to mine. I chinked my glass against his without asking how he knew. What he meant. I downed the amber liquid and waited while he held up a hand to the waitress, telling her we wanted a second round. And fast.
“He’s fucked you up every different way, hasn’t he?”
I stared at him, shocked by his words. Shocked that he knew anything more about me than that I taught a beginner’s class on Wednesdays and Fridays at the Pine Cone Yoga Center.
“Every different way except by actually, you know, fucking you.”
My heart was thudding in my chest. Alcohol. Just the swell taste of alcohol—what was it? Whiskey—oh, how I’d missed the taste, and the flavor, the essence, made my head feel so light. I licked my lips. I stared hard at Cormac, and then I said, “I haven’t had sex in seven years.” Hearing the words made them finally feel real. I almost started to sob.
“Oh, poor baby,” he said softly to me. “You don’t even know which way is up anymore, do you?”
Then he leaned over and kissed me. His lips met mine and I knew I should have closed my eyes. You’re supposed to close your eyes when someone kisses you. But I couldn’t. I had to watch. I had to keep my eyes open as long as possible, staring at his shut eyes, at the lines in the corners, at the silver in his hair. I had to know that this was real. That I wasn’t having a fantasy, lost in a daydream. His lips felt real. His hair and his eyes and his voice when he pulled back and smiled and said, “Let’s go. I need to fuck you right now.”
Why didn’t I run from the very start? Not from Cormac, but from Andrew. Why didn’t I pack up my belongings when he tossed my vibrator into the garbage—proof of how much he disliked the toy, unwilling even to see if the thing could be recycled? Why didn’t I just leave?
Well, first because I was stunned. And second, because I’m stubborn. If Andrew said that living his way would bring me closer to enlightenment, I was willing to listen. The closest to enlightenment I’d ever been before was being roommates with a woman who wanted to join the Peace Corps. So at first, I was willing to give it a try. Then, I was stuck. Andrew and I were in too deep. We lived together. We formed a team.
Did I cheat?
Early on, I touched myself in the shower. This was several days after we moved in together. I didn’t say a word to my man, but Andrew knew. I don’t know how he knew, yet he knew. Maybe I smelled different. Maybe I looked different. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. I didn’t expect the disdain from him. When he spoke to his class, he was judgment free. With me, he had a different personality. Not so much the accepting teacher, but the stern educator, with me his sole pupil.
He would punish me subtly, the silent treatment, the scowl.
I found that I longed for him to punish me in other ways. My fantasies, during that first year, ran wild with me. I imagined Andrew catching me touching myself, and binding my hands over my head so that I couldn’t reach my pussy. I fantasized about him spanking me between my legs, his beautiful, elegant fingers making me twist and turn, my body racked with torturous pleasure.
Silence was all that Andrew gave me.
Slowly the need began to lessen. Slowly I forgot I liked that sort of pleasure. I hummed along on neutral for so long that when I came one night in my sleep, I had completely forgotten what a climax could feel like.
Rather than celebrate the rebirth of my sexuality, I booked an appointment with a mental health practitioner—that’s why I was seeing the therapist.
What I should have done was confront Andrew.
What I did was let Cormac fuck me.
He paid the bill at the bar, then drove me to his house, led me to his room. There was the sound of white noise in my head, the realization that I had left the path I’d been on for so many years. The path to enlightenment. What had it brought me? A limber, nimble body, but one that felt hollow inside.
Cormac filled me.
But not right away.
He started by taking off my clothes, first the hoodie, then the T-back tank top, then the yoga pants. “You’d look hot in jeans,” he said, and I flushed. I hadn’t worn denim in years. My whole wardrobe consisted of yoga gear. “You know a pair of tight Levi’s and just a simple white T-shirt.”
When he had me in my panties, he pulled me to stand in front of the mirror on the back of his door. “See that? See how pretty you are? You’re a—”
Oh, I thought he was going to say goddess. And then I was going to wake up and flee. Goddess was what Andrew sometimes called me.
“—babe” was how Cormac finished the sentence. “You’re a total, fucking babe. The man’s a Neanderthal not to see that.”
Before I could respond, he pulled me to him, but not how I’d expected. Cormac was filled with surprises, and I was so slow, so confused. “You have to wake up,” he said. “You have to get into yourself.”
How was I going to do that? For seven years I had focused and meditated and emptied every last earthly thought. Surprise flooded through me once more when he pulled me with him to a large armless chair in the corner of the room, sat down and bent me over his lap. Immediately his big hand came down hard on my panty-clad ass. He was spanking me! This was how he planned to bring me back to earth?
“A little pain with your pleasure,” he said, and I heard the chuckle low in his voice. His hand slid my panties down past the curve of my ass, and then I felt his palm right on my sweet spot. Again and again. Don’t think I lay still like a rag doll. I might have been stunned, but I could still feel pain. I jumped and squirmed, but Cormac held me firmly.
“I have wanted to spank this sweet ass for weeks,” he told me. “Spank you and fuck you and turn your world upside down.”
I was breathless, panting, but listening to every word.
“I thought of taking you out to my car right then, pushing you over the edge of the trunk and whipping your gorgeous haughty ass until you begged me to fuck you.”
“Oh, God,” I murmured, my voice surprising me. Everything he said was everything I wanted.
“Don’t you want to ask me how I’d fuck you?”
I nodded, my long hair brushing the floor, and Cormac laughed again and gave me five stinging spanks in a row.
“Yes,” I said quickly, understanding the game. “Please, tell me.”
“I was going to fuck your pussy, just fuck that slippery wet hole of yours, and then I was going to make you beg me to take your asshole. Right there. In the parking lot. Where anyone could see you.”
I was all quivery now. Shaking. And Cormac lifted me off his lap and spread me out on his bed.
“I saw you at the front of that class, just like Andrew described—”
“Andrew,” I murmured, shocked, but not trying to get free. Not even as Cormac whipped out a pair of handcuffs and bound my hands over my head. Not as he told me, mouth pressed to my ear, “I’m going to make you come so many times you won’t know when you’re not coming. You’re going to beg me to stop. But I won’t.”
My eyes pleaded with him. Not for him to set me free. But for him to do every single thing he’d promised.
When he stared back at me, the look was so intense—too intense—I turned my head to the wall, and that’s when I saw the pictures. Cormac in India. Cormac doing yoga on the top of a mountain. Cormac was no beginner.
I looked back at him as he began to kiss his way down my body, heading right to the center of my being. How could he be a yoga instructor, too? How could he, so different from Andrew, be able to contort himself into the same sort of pretzel-like shapes? And why had he faked ignorance when he could make his body move like that?
He’d made contact with my pussy, and I didn’t want him to stop, I didn’t want to ask. But he seemed to sense the question. He looked up at me, chin and lips glossy with my juices, and I thought once more that Andrew hadn’t wanted to fuck me because I was too slutty, too easily turned on.
“Because I wanted you,” he explained simply.
“Well, you could have had me.”
“No, you were with him. And I knew what he was doing to you. Turning you into a zombie. He talked about your relationship at a retreat I went to. Proud, he was. Describing how he had succeeded in changing your very being, how he’d managed to tame you, when you were such a sexual beast at the start. I thought there was something sickening in that.”
Back he went to licking my pussy, and then he dragged one thumb down the very split of my body, getting the digit all wet with my own juices.
“So you played dumb.”
“Not so dumb.”
He slid his hand under me, and I could feel his thumb pressing against my asshole. I shivered all over. I swore to you that the first time I saw Cormac, I didn’t imagine him doing filthy things like this to me—but now that he was doing them, I never wanted him to stop.
“When I’m done making you come with my mouth, I’m going to lift up your legs and fuck your asshole. What do you think about that, girl?”
“Oh, God,” I sighed. My wrists shook the headboard, but not because I was trying to get away.
“You’re going to be all filled up,” he said, “and later, I’ll get toys for us. A dildo for your pussy and one for your mouth, you can suck on a cock while I’m deep in your ass. Would you like that?”
I could hardly speak. But I managed finally. “Don’t you think that if you spill your life force…?”
“Not every yoga instructor believes celibacy is the best policy.” He grinned, and then his left hand spread my pussy lips wide apart and he dined on me in earnest. I stared down at him as he began to circle my clit ever so slowly with the tip of his tongue. I’d noticed Andrew’s hands from the start, those beautifully formed, perfect hands. And I’d noticed Cormac’s: a working man’s hands. Not beautiful—not at first. But look at the cracks in the skin on the knuckles, the leathery palms. The large, sturdiness of them as he pinched my lips with one hand, even as he impaled my ass with his right thumb. There was power in the way he moved, in the way he bent me and flexed me.
The climax surprised me. How intensely I came, and how ready I was for Cormac to flip me, so that the chains on the cuffs crossed and I was ass up for him. He had lube, plenty of lube, and he slicked up his cock and then drizzled the liquid between my cheeks. He went slow, at first, and then he went fast, and I cried out when I came a second time. Cried for real, when he said, “I knew you were beautiful when I saw you—all prim and perfect at the front of the class. But I knew you’d be even more beautiful when you finally came undone.”
“A waste of what?” Melinda asked at my next appointment. She must have been thinking over my statement since our previous meeting.
“Chi,” I said once more. I remembered how Andrew had explained his theories to me, and I also remembered one of my friends snickering when I told her that we’d first gotten together. Believing we were Tantric souls destined for otherworldly orgasmic pleasure.
Orgasmic pleasure like the fucking Cormac had given me before I’d gotten out of his truck, pressed up against the door of the Ford, my Lycra-Spandex torn in his big mitt of a hand, all of my worldly belongings in boxes in the back of his pickup.
“I was just coming to say goodbye,” I told Melinda as I gave her a smile.
“Namaste,” she said in her sad little way.
“See ya,” I replied.
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ISBN: 978-1-4592-2014-0
A Taste of Chi
Copyright © 2012 by Alison Tyler
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Alison Tyler, A Taste of Chi
