Humiliated and busted from his yoga teacher

Simon is in my yoga class, he’s 24, not very tall and a little awkward, with short blondish hair and very soft brown eyes that go wide every time I correct his form. I’ve been flirting with him for months: lingering touches during downward dog, whispering “deeper” in his ear, brushing my body against his when I demonstrate. He always blushes and stammers. It’s adorable… and it makes me a tiny bit turned on knowing how easily I can break him.

Last Wednesday I kept the studio open late just for him. I texted: “Private flexibility session after closing?” He replied instantly.

I wore my tiniest black yoga shorts and a cropped white sports bra. The studio was empty, the lights low and the wall-to-wall mirrors reflecting everything. Motivational posters on the wall read “Find Your Edge” and “Breathe Through the Burn.”

Simon showed up in loose gray shorts and a plain tee, already nervous. I locked the door behind him.

“Come here,” I said, hopping onto the mat in the center. He stepped between my legs.

After guiding him through child’s pose into forward fold he was in the perfect position for me to see his balls from behind through his joggers. I stood behind him and slowly lowered my hands from his hips to his balls. Just to see how he‘d react.

His head came up faster than actually humanly possible in shock and he turned himself to me. „EMMY! What???“ he loudly asked in utter disbelief.

„Not what you enjoy?“ I mumbled disappointed.

„well…I mean…yes but…I don’t know“ he stuttered.

I yanked his shorts and boxers down. His thick cock jumped into my face, already leaking with heavy balls hanging beneath. The mirrors showed every angle and I definitely tried to catch ever angle of it.

“These are mine tonight,” I told him, cupping his balls and squeezing until his knees shook. “Say it.”

“They’re yours, Emmy,” he gasped.

I slapped them hard. The smack echoed off the mirrors. He yelped but I slapped again, sharper, then a third time even harder, watching them redden in the reflection.

“On all fours,” I ordered. “Now slap your own balls for me. Hard. Eyes on the mirror. Beg while you do it.”

Simon dropped to his hands and knees, face burning red. He reached back, cupped his sack, and slapped. The loud crack filled the studio. “Please, Emmy… let me hurt them for you…”

“Louder and harder. Tell me what a pathetic ball-slut you are.”

He slapped again, this time as hard as I wanted it to be. Tears pricked his eyes. “Please, Emmy… slap my balls… squeeze them… I’m your worthless yoga bitch… I’ll do anything…”

I circled him slowly, watching every reflected angle as he kept slapping his own swollen balls. “Keep going. Beg louder.”

“I’m pathetic… please kick my balls… please squeeze them until I cry… own them, Emmy…” His cock dripped onto the mat, balls turning deep red.

I stripped off my bra so my tits were bouncing free and squatted in front of him. Then I grabbed his balls in a tight grip, digging my long acrylic nails in while he sobbed. “Now fuck me like this. Keep slapping yourself between every thrust. Beg the whole time.”

Simon slid into me from behind. He started thrusting, slow at first. Every push forward, he reached back and slapped his balls hard. The wet sounds of him fucking me mixed with the sharp cracks echoing through the room. I reached back and squeezed his sack on every downstroke, twisting just enough to make him whimper.

“Harder,” I demanded, grinding back. “I want them purple.”

He slapped himself even harder, crying absolutely openly now. I squeezed and twisted, then kicked back lightly with my bare foot. So nice and sharp taps that made his balls bounce. The mirrors showed everything: his tear-streaked face, my satisfied grin through my moans, his punished sack getting redder with every impact.

After a few minutes I pulled off him and lay back on the mat, legs spread. “On your back. Slap your balls while you jerk off. Beg me to kick them and don’t cum until I say.”

Simon rolled onto his back, completely exposed. One hand stroked his throbbing cock, the other slapped his swollen balls. “Please, Emmy… kick my balls… hurt them… I’m your pathetic ball toy… please make them pop…”

I stood over him, planted one foot on his chest, and kicked his sack with crisp smacks. I alternated with hard squeezes between my toes while he pumped faster, sobbing.

“Cum for me right here on the mat,” I whispered, giving his balls one final brutal squeeze as I rubbed my clit. “Shoot it everywhere and thank me after every spurt. Loud.”

He exploded on the spot. Thick ropes of cum shot across his stomach and the mat while his body shook. “Thank you… thank you… thank you, Emmy…” he sobbed between spurts. I kept squeezing and lightly kicking until he was empty and whimpering.

I stood up, pulled my shorts back into place, and kissed his forehead. “Good boy. Clean every drop before morning class. And remember : these belong to me now every single class.”

I grabbed my keys and walked out, already knowing he’d be begging for the next private session. The studio would never feel innocent again.