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You’ve finally given in to your mom’s pleas and joined her for a yoga session in the living room. She’s been asking for weeks, and now here you are, squeezed into those ridiculously short shorts she bought you. Perfect for ‘yoga guys,’ she insists, while she’s in nothing but lacy panties, claiming it helps her feel free and attuned to nature with no barriers.

She starts by guiding you into downward dog, her hands brushing your inner thighs as she widens your stance. ‘A little wider, baby,’ she purrs, pressing her body against yours so you feel her hard nipples teasing through your shirt. Her fingers trail down your spine, lingering on your ass as she praises your natural flexibility: she says you get it from her, always so bendy herself.

When she straddles you for the partner poses, her damp panties grind against your throbbing cock, and she rotates her hips, calling it chakra alignment to make it sound innocent. ‘Relax, my good boy,’ she coos, as she peels your shorts down and takes control, the air thick with her arousal. You’re riding the wave as she moans about ‘energy transfer,’ her soaked cunt milking your load. You’re so naive you don’t even know what’s happening.

By the end, you’re both a sweaty, sticky mess on the yoga mat, and she’s sighing about it being the best session ever, already planning to make you her permanent partner.