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Look at you, already hard. One glance at me in these yoga pants and your cock starts twitching.

I’m not here to chat—you’re here to obey. You stroke, you suffer, you submit to every curve, every flex of fabric. I command, you respond: “I suffer from mistress’s curves.”

This isn’t a workout. It’s your prison of lust. Your hand wraps around that cock because you belong to these pants, and you love it. You float, gasp, twitch. You’re my stroking drone, edge-addicted and desperate for more.

When I bend, flex, grind, you know: this shape owns your mind and body. So stroke fast. Edge hard. Then stop—freeze—feel the ache. That ache becomes your reward.

You belong to this body now. To these yoga pants. To this addiction. No come. No mercy. Just worship, ache, and relentless obedience.

Play it. Stroke to every flex, every twitch, every ache. Then crawl away—cock still throbbing, knees weak—waiting for our next session.