Yoga Class Slaughter by NoPantsRelationship
Explore the tantalizing world of 'Yoga Class Slaughter' by NoPantsRelationship – an erotic tale that intertwines passion and desire in an unexpected setting. Join the adventure as boundaries blur in a steamy yoga class. Perfect for fans of sensual stories, this captivating read will ignite your imagination and elevate your fantasies. Indulge in the heat of the moment!<br/>
Set in a world where men are scarce, a man drives his girlfriend to yoga class. Cuckqueaning and Snuff ensue. , Women’s home bathrooms each have their own unique feel to them. A personality of sorts, not always entirely matching that of the woman that cultivated them.
Kim’s was a careful mess. Chaos crammed away into drawers and cabinets, kept out of sight so as not to mar the respectable outward appearance. At first glance, it was clean, orderly. Once you looked behind or within you found everything was dirty, half the products used up or dried up, but all in its own special place, following her own internal logic of order. Guy wasn’t sure what that meant about her, really. All he was concerned with was where she kept the fresh razors.
Pulling open and rifling through yet another drawer, he passed over a box tampons, tarnished trimming scissors, the third makeup bag he’d found, and a bottle of dried out pink nail polish. Nowhere was a clean razor to be found.
Straightening with a grunt, he took a moment to think, rubbing slowly at his unshaven face. This was hardly the first woman’s bathroom he’d visited, or the hundredth for that matter. If anyone was qualified to solve this puzzle, he was. A thousand one-night stands, some smaller number of short term relationships, and a few sharing circles meant he’d gone through some version of this predicament more times than he could really count.
He’d checked beneath the sink first, of course. That was where bulk items usually could be found, and razors were often sold so. Yet oddly, there was nothing at all there save for a single roll of toilet paper. All secondary locations were fruitless as well, every drawer, cabinet, and even the linen closet thoroughly explored. Taken together, they contained every toiletry one could wish for. Except razors.
Maybe she was just out.
He seriously considered the concept for a minute before discarding it. Her legs had been too smooth beneath his hands, a sign that spoke of frequent shaving by dint of how effectively she’d stripped her skin of every stray follicle. No one was that good unless they had a lot of practice, and a lot of practice meant going through a lot of razors. Ergo she should have some, somewhere.
Nakedness was starting to bother him as the air cooled, steam from his shower condensing and sticking to the walls and ceiling. Besides his bristly cheeks his body hair was well-kempt, trimmed to perfection. His last girl had been a hairdresser, able to adapt what she knew to give him a touch up… and more, once the stray hairs had been toweled away.
The memory caused a smile to touch his lips as he opened an small cabinet above the toilet, checking it for the second time. There were only boxes of over-the-counter medicines inside, none of them particularly interesting. Staring at the words writ on them, he spaced out briefly as he considered what a man’s bathroom might be laid out like. Doubtless the razors would be in easier reach.
It was hard to know. He’d barely ever met another man, let alone spent time in one’s home. The thought put him on the right track, though. For if a razor wasn’t in easy reach, then there was only one place it could be…
Looking up, he saw the cabinet he’d been staring into had a flat top, though of course it was blocked from view to any on the ground. Reaching up blindly, he ran his fingers over dusty wood, finally feeling a plastic package tucked away against the wall. Triumphant, he pulled them down, satisfied to see a half-emptied 8-pack of disposable razors. Impossible to find, if you were only looking with your eyes.
Pulling one out, he put the package back and turned toward the bathroom mirror. It was still fogged over despite the cooling air, so he located the hair dryer beside the sink and gave the glassy surface a blast. It cleared instantly, letting him see his own face without obstruction. Another trick he’d learned in his years of vagrancy.
Wetting the razor, he looked at himself in the mirror, picking out the familiar features he’d lived with since puberty. It was strange to him sometimes, how his own face could seem so bizarre. Features never found on any woman jumped out at him like hideous deformities, despite the fact that he supposed they must have been quite typical for a man. Simple judgments on his own appearance eluded him, as he possessed neither the vocabulary nor the experience to describe them. How did one speak about masculine attractiveness? Women had called him pretty, but by the sheer scale of how many time he’d heard that word applied to females, he didn’t feel it could be used on him. He was a wholly different creature, something carnal and strong, not like women at all.
Besides, they might have been lying. It was hard to know – there weren’t enough other men to judge himself against.
Scraping away the small rough hairs from his face, he wondered about those other males. Most of them lived like him, an easy if lonely life of wandering from woman to woman, bedroom to bedroom, taking whatever offer seemed most appealing at the time. Did they know how to find the razors in a woman’s bathroom without going to ask her? Or did they just not care about such things? He’d heard some of them actually let their face hair grow out, getting as long as the hair on a woman’s scalp. He could never do that. It just seemed too freakish to him, too inherently unnatural. He finished shaving quickly, splashing water over his face afterward to soothe his slightly stinging skin.
When there were so few men in the world, it was hard to know what was normal for one to be like. For the most part he did what felt good, what worked. Most anything he wanted that a woman could give, he had. He was a rare and precious thing, and they vied to claim him, competing in displays that sometimes seemed ridiculous to him, and that despite how many times he’d seen such contention.
Kim had been lucky to get him, and she knew it. Merely attractive, her means were modest, personal qualities so so. He’d caught sight of her walking down the street one day while driving, on his way out of the hairdresser’s life. Her generous body had intrigued him, his last few girls mostly slender, diets tightly controlled to maintain their weight. A woman that looked so naturally appealing when filled out was something he’d rarely seen. So he’d pulled up alongside her, and offered to drive her home.
Simple as that, he was her boyfriend.
Now barely a few days later, it was becoming clear to him that she was desperate to keep him for as long as possible, to milk her good fortune for every drop of prestige and pleasure that it was worth. She took him to parties to show him off, letting her friends look but not touch, draping herself across him and even seducing him into open sex in front of others just to make them jealous. He knew enough of women by now to realize how this indicated Kim’s own jealous nature, a tendency towards envy and anxiety about other’s perceptions.