There I was, nearly tea-bagged by the hotest and clueless guy I had ever met, only his thin gym shorts preventing his massive sweaty balls from entering my mouth.
"Shit, so sorry bro. Guess I slipped. You okay down there?
Good lord, I was more than ok.
I was in trance!
My mouth was right against his hefty package, answering him was just not possible. So I only nodded and moaned a bit in response, which made his balls rub against my mouth some more, stimulating him:
"Woa, that's wild dude. Crow posture feels so good!"
I bet it does!
I thought this accidental contact would only last a couple more seconds, but he was visibly trying to maintain this, as if this was a legit posture:
"I'm so close bro, I can feel it. Gettin' there."
Same bro, so close to actually engulf your jewels!
He teetered, arms still on the ground, his ass towards me, balls dangling on my mouth, warm and pungent. He was using my head to rub his ballsack:
"Feels so good man." He said shivering.
I let him do his thing, focused on the strong flavours his package was pressing into my skull. I didn't count how long we stayed in that akward position (which didn't seem to make him unconfortable, like at all), but maybe 2 minutes would be correct.
Sudddenly, he seemed to lose balance and withdrew from my mouth. Soon, both his legs fell back, leaving him exhausted, on all fours, on the ground.
We both stayed silent for a few seconds. I was still having trouble getting back to teacher mod with all this. My mind was just saturated with his scent. The rich smells from his damp, sweaty balls all over my face couln't leave me.
"Yo? Was I good bro?" He eventually said, he stood up on his two powerful legs before extending his hand to me.
I couln't answer.
"Did I hurt you?"
I had to wipe some of the sweat he had left on my mouth, while trying to formulate a clear answer:
"For a first timer, that was impressive."
“Man, I almost killed my yoga teacher!” He said, looking how messy I was.
That finally made me laugh, though it was still nervous:
“You were doing great man, don't worry.”
He blinked:
“Seriously?”
“Yeah,” I said, shifting to instructor mode. “Your arm placement was good: elbows bent just enough, shoulders engaged. And your balance is improving. You’re committing more instead of hesitating.”
He relaxed a little at that.
“The main thing,” I continued, gesturing as I spoke, “is controlling the backward lean. Your amrs are doing a lot of the work right now, which isn’t bad, but you want to distribute that effort through your back too so you’re not tipping all at once. So next time, more glutes. Understood?”
He nodded, genuinely interested:
“So less launch, more… back control?”
“Exactly,” I said. “And honestly? The fact that you trusted the pose enough to fall on me and maanged to keep the posture, it's good. It's a good sign.”
He smiled, relieved:
“Yo that crow felt great though. Can't wait to try that again.”
I stood, offering him a hand. He took it easily, strong grip, grounding rather than overwhelming.
“Next time though,” he said, half-joking, “I’ll try not to body-slam you with my butt.”
“I appreciate that,” I replied. “But you’re going in the right direction. We’ll keep working on it.”
He looked genuinely proud:
"Hey, let me help you out with cleaning the stuff up. I owe you this one."
And as we reset the mats, I realized something subtle had shifted again: not because his balls had been rubbing on my mouth for too long, but because he seemed to have gained more confidence after that.
"Thansk for helping me man, you really didn't have to do this."
"That's the bare minimum, bro."
Before I could even respond, he lifted his hand.
“Best yoga magician in the world.”
I laughed and met it.
Smack.
A solid, enthusiastic high five. The kind that stings just a little and makes the moment feel sacred. I was cooked.
“See?” he said. “Teamwork.”
“Teamwork,” I agreed.
He rolled his shoulders again, slower this time, like his body was starting to realize how much effort it had actually put in:
“Man,” he added, more quietly, “I’m gonna feel this tomorrow.”
“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” I said.
He looked at me, curious:
“Uh-oh.”
“Nothing bad,” I reassured him quickly. “You worked hard today. Arms, shoulders, hips. Crow Pose is demanding. If you want, we can do a some recovery massage. Help everything settle so you don’t lock up tonight.”
His face brightened instantly:
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. That sounds… really smart man.”
I gestured toward the hallway:
“Private room’s free.”
He didn’t hesitate for a second:
“Let's go, coach.”
Inside the room, he moved with the easy familiarity of someone who trusted the process now: shoes off, hoodie tossed aside, stretching his arms once before lying back on the table with a content sigh:
“Honestly,” he said, staring at the ceiling, “I didn’t think crow pose would wreck me like this. It’s sneaky.”
“I mean, you asked for it dude,” I said, washing my hands. “You chose a hard posture and already made progress on it today. You like powering through things right?”
“That tracks,” he replied. “I’m very much a ‘power through’ guy.”
I asked him to turn onto his stomach, he obeyed without a fuss, as happy as a puppy who's been promised a treat.
"Okay so I'm going to work a bit on your pelvic stability. It’s one of the main things that helps with Crow Pose. Balance starts there. You mind me going on your hips and glutes?”
“Pelvic… stability?” he repeated, eyes closed.
“Hip flexors, lower core, deep stabilizers,” I clarified. “It helps you control the weight shift forward. Makes a huge difference.”
His face lit up immediately:
“Oh, dude. Yes,” he said without hesitation. “If that helps me not faceplant next time, I’m in.”
I went slow, working around the hips, glutes, and lower back, all the places that quietly carry the load but never get thanked for it. His body responded immediately, tension giving way under practiced pressure:
“Oh wow,” he murmured. “Yep, that’s the spot.”
After maybe five minutes of traditionnal massage, I quit pretending his back muscles interested me and only ocused my fingers on his glutes. Damn, his buttcheeks were so round and peachy. I wanted to devour them.
“You did really well today,” I said while massaging them. “Falling included.”
He chuckled:
“Just like lifting I guess. Failling is part of the training.”
“It does when you learn from it,” I replied. “And you sure did.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, almost thoughtfully:
“I like that you explain stuff. Makes me want to actually get better instead of just muscling through. Know what I mean?”
I smiled to myself, continuing the steady rhythm:
“That’s the goal,” I said calmly. “Understanding your body instead of fighting it.”
He hummed in agreement, already drifting into that familiar relaxed state, the one where the usual jokes faded and the atmosphere filled with sexual tension.
His butt, holy hell.
This guy had an athlete's ass to die for, and I'm so lycky to have my hands on it!
Mason let out a small moan. He liked this too:
“Damn Bro. Feels great. Feels like... you’re finding all the hidden knots,” he said calmly. “Like cheat codes for my body.”
I smiled, keeping my hands steady, grounded:
“That’s the idea. You've got great glutes but they need some prep too big boy.”
That got a laugh from him:
"Shit, each time I'm with you it gets better. You sure know what you're doing man. I can feel it going all the way up my spine."
The longer I worked, the heavier he seemed to sink into the table, muscles softening, breath slowing, trust settling in without effort.
"I'm gonna need a better access, like last time Mason. Your remember, Open anchor?"
"Oh shit, yeah go ahead. Loved that shit."
My shaking fingers grasped the waistband of his gray shorts and began to pull. Slowly, his ass was being revealed, right before my eyes.
I must admit, I felt a twitch in my cock: it was big, white, with so little hair that you could have thought he'd shaved it. But there was a thin layer of hair covering it, almost blond. I didn't waste any time and went to grab his bare cheeks with hunger:
“Fuuuck” he whipered. “I never... let anyone there bro.”
I paused for just a second, eyes glues to his wonderfull butt, then continued:
“I know. Feels great right? When I'm done you'll understand why working those glutes is crucial.”
"I trust you yoga bro." He answered, voice low.
And as I worked his ass deeper, it struck me how natural this felt now. Not awkward. Not complicated. Just two people in the same space, one learning new things about his body, the other salivating all over it.
Soon, I saw the familiar head of his penis emerge, wedged between his thigh and the massage table. It was calling to me, foaming with precum.
"Duude, your killing me down there."
His poor cock wanted more.
There was only one solution.
"Turn around. Let me see you thighs like last time."
He quickly obeyed, eyes closed, his broad torso rising and falling regularly, stretching his tank top with a steady breath.
His enormous cock stood there, almost reaching 9 inches of pure man meat, stiff as fuck and dripping like a fountain. He felt no shame about it. His proud dick leaked over his heavy balls right in front of me, and nothing felt more natural than that.
Then he asked this and I couln't avoid smiling:
"Open anchor bro?"
"Yeah... Open anchor." I replied carefully. "Stay focused on your breathing Mason, just like last time? Let me do the rest."
He spread his muscular legs wider, giving me all the space I needed.
I went straight at his shaft with both hands and started to pump slowly.
It's milking time.
"Shit, your grip's killer." He grunted.
More precum started to flow. I pumped harder, the wet schlick of skin on skin soon filled the room, his balls tightening as tension coiled in his gut.
His hips jerked rom time to time, begging me to go harder and faster. The scent of him thickened, salt and musk clinging to the humid air between us.
"Ugh... So good bro."
His breathing turned ragged, punctuated by low, punched-out sounds as my fingers traced the swollen veins along his big shaft, soon slicked with pre-cum that dripped onto my wrist.
"Breath slowly Mason, keep focused on your breathing."
"Yeah coach."
The mat beneath him was now damp with sweat, his thighs trembling as he fought not to buck in my hand. His moans turned guttural, almost pained, like he was surrendering to something he hadn’t named yet.
I switched position: my right hand was now slowly jerking him, thumb brushing the slick head in lazy circles while my left cupped his heavy balls, squeezing gently, coaxing out small pulses. I felt them stiffening under my touch, move up towards his engorged crotch.
This was only a matter of seconds.
He gasped, head thudding back against the bed, sweat dripping from his forehead:
"F-fuck," he slurred, voice wrecked. "Fuck I feel it coming. Coach, it's comming."
"Okay Mason, now remmeber. Just like last time. Count each wave, all right?"
"Shiiit, yeah..."
The moment I went straight for his cock, mouth open, ready to finally taste him properly, he lost it:
"BRO... BRO!"
I felt the pressure building from his balls up to his helmet, like water in a garden hose. The cumblast was so powerfull it pulsed against my lips and stretched my mouth even further:
"Shiit! OOONE!"
I didn't even have time to get familiar with his massive glans stretching my mouth, the first spurt hit my palate and quickly filled my mouth.
It was warmer than I expected, and so so so bitter. Like the most bitter but addicting baby batter your could imagine. So strong and masculine.
His thighs trembled, knuckles white where they gripped the mat. My next reward was coming soon:
"TWOOO!" he gasped, hips stuttering, and I hollowed my cheeks to take him just a bit deeper, his crown filling my mouth completely.
His cum was so warm and tasty I couln't let it go. I had to stay for the whole process. The whole cum extraction.
And what an orgasm. This poor bro really needed to jerk off more. The amouth of cream he fed me with only two cumblasts was abnormal.
I barely had enough time to swallow the huge cum he had shot there. I felt it burning my throat, all the way to my stomach. Such a rich and strong mix of flavours.
"FUUUH, THREE!"
The rhythm was messy, primal, his body betraying any notion of control as his abs clenched, his cock jerking like a live wire:
"FOUR!...FUCK!" His voice cracked, and I felt the next release before it came, a shuddering build-up that made his balls draw even tighter in my palm.
GULP.
I had to swallow again. Didn't want to lose a drop of his nectar.
"FIIIVE!"
I didn’t stop milking him.
Couldn’t.
"Fuuuh!"
His cock twitched and twiched in my hands.
"BRO!" He moaned in agony. "I' CAN'T...!"
But more and more of his precious semen came into my mouth, swelling my cheeks. Every two spurts I had to swallow a mouthfull of hot cum. He came that much.
When the thenth cumblast spurted, it felt different: slower, thicker, like molten honey pouring into me. I swallowed greedily, but some escaped, dripping onto my chin.
His fingers twisted in the thin matress not pulling, just anchoring himself, as if he might float away otherwise.
The next spurt sealed the deal: just a thin, bitter trickle against my tongue, and I moaned around him, swallowing it down like it was the last drop of water in the desert. He didn't even count this one, lost in his climax. He was done.
His taste clung to my mouth, sharp and musky, a flavor I’d crave in the middle of the night, pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth just to remember it.
The massive cock slowly softened in my grip. He still twitched yes, but only a few drops were now coming from his slit, which I was pressing back into the swollen head with slow, purposeful circles. He shuddered, his breath hitching, his hips jerking weakly under my touch:
"Jeeeez bro," he slurred, his voice wrecked, his fingers twitching where they still gripped the mat. "You weren’t kidding about the stretch, man."
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