Chapter 1
Everything was fuzzy when I first came to.
I was lying on my back on a padded surface, facing upward. I tried to clear the blurriness from my eyes, but quickly realized that I had no physical access to my eyes to even rub them, because my wrists seemed to be restrained. And not just restrained, but held down with my arms crossing my back-swept upper thighs where they met my buttocks.
I tested the wrist restraints, and realized that while they weren’t tight, neither were they releasable; I couldn’t raise them much or prevent my arms from holding back my upper legs.
And in that moment, I realized that it was not only my wrists that were restrained. The discomfort of my position created an awareness that my thighs were not just held down by my arms, but that they were even more restricted, by my lower legs; my ankles seemed to be stuck together behind my head.
This wasn’t a novel posture for me; I had often practiced it as part of my private yoga routine to flex and stretch, and occasionally I’d done it during sex to please a guy. But I’d never before had my feet behind my head without being able to release myself from that position.
I had often been complimented on the proportions of my body, but I’d always wished that my legs were longer, and I’d never wished it so much as I did now – my torso spreading and bending my knees, they didn’t allow me to get my feet back over my head, as long as they were connected, regardless of how much I stretched and strained to do so.
The fear at my circumstances started to bubble up within me, but I tried not to panic, and instead continued to assess my situation, wondering just what I’d gotten myself into.
I had of course assumed from the beginning that it would involve some sort of sexual activity, but the contract hadn’t been very specific about exactly what was to happen to me, or when or how, other than that I wouldn’t be physically injured, and that I’d have a safe phrase, with the proviso that the use of it would void the agreement. But I had filled out a questionnaire about what I was willing and unwilling to do. So it seemed interesting.
I hadn’t been sure whether I could trust them to pay, but I’d been referred by a girlfriend who’d refused to give me any details, saying only that I’d find it unforgettable, and that any foreknowledge on my part would spoil the experience for everyone. So since I generally liked sex as long as it wasn’t too kinky, I’d signed it anyway; five thousand dollars was a lot of money for a barista with student loans.
As I lay there, restrained and still a little woozy, I cast my mind back to the events that had resulted in this predicament, just a few hours ago. Or more, or less; it was hard to know, as I didn’t know what time or even day it now was, because I had no idea how long I’d been out from the drugs.
I had just left my normal yoga workout, in my normal post-workout clothes – yoga pants, sweatshirt, and sandals – when I heard a voice behind me.
“Ms. Katsaros.”
The tone and inflection indicated that it wasn’t a question; it was more of a command.
I turned around and saw a tall blond woman, her apparently abundant hair put up in a large chignon. She would have looked somewhat like Elsa from Frozen if, instead of resplendent in a regal-blue dress, the Disney princess had been immaculately attired in a well-tailored charcoal-gray conservative business suit, with knee-length skirt revealing well-formed calves leading down to black three-inch heels.
As I was taking in her appearance, she in turn looked me slowly up and down, seemingly disapprovingly, for a few seconds, and then announced, in a crisp, upper-class English accent, “We have examined your application for our lucrative temporary position, and would like to provisionally offer it to you. However, before consummating the contract, we require a final personal interview.”
In my current financial straits, this seemed like good news.
“When would the interview be scheduled?”
“Immediately.
“You will come with me now.”
The tone of her response would clearly brook no disagreement.
“I was supposed to meet a friend for coffee after yoga.”
“Text him or her, and tell them that something has come up.
“In fact, you will set up an auto-reply for incoming texts that you will be out of cell range for the next day or two, so no one will worry about you if you miss any messages.”
I frowned, but then pulled my phone out of my purse and texted Sara that an emergency had come up, and that I’d explain later, and I texted my boss at the coffee shop that I might not be there in the morning. Then I set up the autoreply as she had demanded; I didn’t want to lose this opportunity.
“All right, let’s go.”
She had turned around with the words, and was walking quickly down the street. I ran to catch up with her.
“Where are we going?”
“Not far.”
“Will it take long?”
“No, but believe me, it will be thorough.”
She spoke no further, though she tapped at her phone, as we continued to rapidly move along. After a minute or so, we turned into a parking lot a half block away, and approached a black limousine. The right rear door was open. An exotically beautiful Asian-looking woman of medium height, in a chauffeurs’ uniform, including black hair bundled under the cap, was standing by it.
“Get in, and sit in the rear seat, across from her,” she briskly commanded.
I looked inside, and hesitated as I saw a woman in a white nurse’s uniform sitting in the rear-facing seat at the other side of the car, with a doctor’s satchel beside her. Then I slowly climbed in, set my purse on the floor, and sat down as ordered, facing her.
I could see the word “NORA” on the uniform badge. She had pretty features, with shoulder-length auburn hair.
The blond woman followed me in, and sat on the rear-facing seat along with the nurse, if she indeed was one, and the door was closed behind her. A few seconds later I heard a clunk as the doors locked. I reached over to test one, and realized that it was locked from the inside as well, with no release button.
“We don’t want to be disturbed,” she explained, seeing the concerned expression on my face but continuing to be expressionless herself. “We also don’t want you to leave prematurely, before we have finished the procedure.”
“I used the word ‘interview,’ but in a sense, the application and preference form was the interview. Really, this is more of a physical examination to determine your fitness for whatever exertions we will demand of you. This woman is a registered nurse, who will perform the exam.”
“It doesn’t seem like a typical medical clinic,” I remarked.
“It will serve.” The nurse’s voice had a husky, sexy tone.
“And is it standard practice for you to have a non-medical professional participate?”
The blond woman spoke up.
“Ms. Katsaros, there are many young women eager for the opportunity to do what we have chosen you to do, some perhaps who would do it for even less money. They are available to us even today. One more impertinent and disrespectful comment like that and we will unlock the door, release you, and give your lucrative opportunity to one of them, whom I am sure would greatly appreciate it. Am I clear?”
Chastened, and fearing losing the gig, I nodded.
“I am on the verge of making a significant business investment in what I hope will be a valuable commodity. It would be fiduciarily irresponsible to my business to do so without personally inspecting the merchandise.”
I internally bristled at being callously characterized as “merchandise” but, given the amount of money, I could see her point.
“All right,” the nurse announced. “We will start with your blood pressure and pulse. Roll up your left sleeve.”
As I rolled up the sleeve on my sweatshirt, she got out a wrist-cuff monitor and velcroed it on me, then pushed the button. The pump started and I felt the pressure on my wrist, and then a slight pain in my arm as the circulation was momentarily cut off. It counted down to the result, and then I heard and felt the pressure released.
“130/90, and pulse of 88. A little high for someone of her age and build, but not necessarily an issue; probably a result of nervousness at the circumstances.”
The blond woman nodded in apparent understanding.
The nurse put away the device, then moved her face very close into mine, staring silently and deeply into my widened brown eyes with her own hazel ones for a few seconds longer than seemed comfortable. She finally spoke, slowly.
“The physical exam itself will start at the top...” she paused, and then opened her mouth and gently licked my closed lips a few times, “...and work our way down to...the bottom.” She backed off.
“Now open your mouth, and let’s see your tongue.”
I blinked a couple times, and shook off the seeming spell, then slowly obeyed her as she came at me with a tongue depressor and bright light. She pressed the depressor down. “Say ‘ah.’”
As I vibrated my vocal chords, she looked down my throat with the light.
“Throat and uvula seem pink and healthy. Keep the tongue stuck out as far as you can.”
Setting down the instruments, her face once again approached my own with the tongue still extended from my mouth, and her eyes stared deeply again into mine for a few seconds. Then, closing them as if to concentrate, she slowly stuck her own tongue out and, to my shock, gently licked the end of mine with it, slowly rotating around it, almost in a minuet, then stroking back and forth on the top and bottom, for almost ten seconds. Strangely, though I had never done anything sexual with a woman, I found it arousing, albeit bizarre.
Opening her eyes and withdrawing her tongue to speak, she explained, “How a tongue tastes has a surprising amount of clues to physical health. Based on my experience, I detected nothing out of the ordinary, other than garlic and onions.”
“Panera for lunch.”
“All right, time to check out your heart. Off with the sweatshirt.”
I hesitated, then seeing the look in the eyes of the blond woman on whose good graces I currently depended, slowly reached down, pulled the bottom up, and over my head. I pulled first one arm, then the other through and set the shirt down on the seat beside me.
“Bra, too.”
I slowly reached up and unclipped the front, separated the cups, then pulled my arms through and removed it, setting it on top of the sweatshirt. My large bare breasts were now on full display to the two women.
She raised the ear pieces of a stethoscope that had been resting on her shoulders, and put them into her ears. “I hate cold stethoscopes. I have a theory that the shock of the chill on the chest or the breast affects the heart rate. So I’ve been keeping this one body temperature for you.”
She reached into down into her uniform and removed the chest piece that had apparently been resting against her own bare bosom under the blouse. She then reached forward, cupped and lifted my left breast in her left hand, and pressed the chest piece against the upper part of it. It was pleasantly warm as she had said, and I tried to breathe calmly as she listened for several seconds.
“Now close your mouth, breathe very deeply a few times, then cough.” She continued to listen as I obeyed.
Finally, she pulled it away. “The heart rate continues to be somewhat elevated, but again, that’s not unexpected under the circumstances. I hear no arrhythmia or abnormality. Her cardiac function seems normal, and her heart strong. No obvious lung issues either.”
Though she then took off the stethoscope and set it aside, she continued to weigh my breast in her hand.
“Yes, 36D if it’s an ounce. No need to measure; she seems to have been honest on her application.”
“Yes,” the blond woman replied. “Despite her hideous attire, I was admiring her curves and body proportions on the sidewalk. Her self reports do seem accurate.”
Continuing to hold my breast, with her other hand, she gently brushed the backs of her fingertips around my nipple. “She has nice large aureoles. I think the patrons will find that quite aesthetically pleasing.”
I didn’t speak, but the sensation of her fingers on my sensitive breast end felt very good. But what happened next was both more pleasurable, and disturbing. She gently grasped the nub with her fingers, and started to squeeze it and brush it directly. As she did so, I could feel it start to swell and harden in them, sending a little sparkle up my spine. She could feel the hardening as well.
“Observe how responsive the nipple is to manipulation. The blood flows readily to it, and I suspect that’s not the only place the blood is flowing to. Let’s see if she’s symmetrical.”
She released the left breast, letting it drop, and picked up and squeezed the other one, whereupon she started similar ministrations of its own nipple, which responded in a similar manner. Despite my fear, and previous belief that I was totally straight, I was starting to get sexually excited by what this woman was doing to me and, as she had implied, the blood was flowing to engorge the sexual organs between my clothed legs as well. After a minute or so, as it continued to swell, she released it, too.
“All right, put the bra and shirt back on,” I heard, to my relief; I wasn’t to be stripped completely naked in front of these strange women. I put on the bra, and then pulled the sweatshirt back over my head. But the feeling was short lived.
“We’ll keep working our way downward, to check out the health and appearance of the money makers. Time to peel off those tight pants.”
Find the complete version on Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/after-yoga-e-j-carlucci/1129093263?ean=9780989135542
It can also be found on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/After-Yoga-Reluctant-Journey-Discovery-ebook/dp/B07FZCDLB6/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=%22after+yoga%22&qid=1593800573&s=books&sr=1-2, but is a reduced price on Barnes and Noble.
