Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Chi by Miles Naismith

   "Any new business?" asked Daphne Fraser, President of the Epping Forest
Women's Club.

   "Yes, ma'am, Madame President," said Sally Saarensen.  "I know I'm the
new kid on this block, but I'd like to suggest an alternative to another
Chinese dinner or a talk on gardening.  I move that the next monthly
meeting be held at the Cock o' the Walk Pub instead of the China Inn."

   In the ensuing babble of conversation, a voice asked, "Isn't that one of
those Chippendales-type places?"

   "More like Clydesdales, if my friend is right," Sally murmured, then
louder, "Yeah, that's the general idea."

   Daphne choked back her laughter as she listened to the chaotic reaction
to Sally's proposal.  Trust Sally to shake 'em up, she thought.  I do
believe she positively delights in playing the liberated provocateur. 
Finally, it seemed clear that the proposal would not pass, despite an
undercurrent of interest and curiosity in several of the voices.  Too bad,
she thought.

   "All right, ladies, order.  Is there a second to Sally's motion?" After
a long pause, she said, "Motion fails for want of a second.  Anything else?
Well then, meeting adjourned."

   Later, sitting in Sally's living room, Daphne and Sally sipped drinks
and chatted about the meeting.

   "Did ya see the look on Betty's face?  I thought she was going to
choke!"

   "Sally, you shouldn't do those things to our neighbors and friends... 
compared to you, they are virtually unarmed when it comes to sexual
upfrontedness.  Give them a break."

   "Upfrontedness?  Wow, you really are from the Sixties!  Okay, Ms. 
Tolerance, I'll lay off them, but what about you?  You looked like you
wanted to go.  And I know why."

   "This ought to be good...  so, why's that, Dr.  Freud?"

   "Your in a rut, girlfriend.  Your kids are gone, and you have time for
fun, but you're not getting any.  Time to get wild, girl.  Time to do
something your mother warned you against."

   "I've done wild.  We went to nude beaches in Europe, and I've been
topless in the Caribbean.  And we used to do a little dope before we had
the kids.  I don't always colour inside the lines, you know."

   "Dope?  Oh yeah, you mean 'Mary-jew-wanna.' Hell, everyone who went to
college back then tried that.  And I'll bet you were so self conscious you
never looked to see what men were eyeing you on the nude beaches...although
I'll bet you felt real 'free,' defying convention like that!  Phui.  Come
to the Cock o' the Walk with me."

   "I don't think so, Sally, but not because I'm uptight about it.  I just
don't think I could get that enthusiastic over stuffing dollar bills into
the pouch of some over-muscled moron while squealing with girlish glee
about how naughty I was being."

   "Well, then, come with me to yoga class.  Like Ken Lee recommended."

   "I don't buy all that mystic Eastern stuff about controlling the flow of
chi and all that.  I liked the self-defense course, and I like Ken Lee's
teaching style.  I don't need some yogi telling me to meditate on the
wonders of Krishna while assuming unnatural positions.  And what's yoga
class got to do with it?"

   "Well, I believe in chi, and so does Ken.  He said he felt it in us when
he singled us out to join the yoga class.  It's being given by his former
teacher, and as to its relevance, the class is going to be in the nude."

   Daphne arrived home with no conscious memory of the drive from Sally's
house.  She had been thinking about Sally and what she had said.  She had
not had a friend that she felt so close to, that she could share
confidences with, since high school, and she found that Sally filled a void
in her life that she hadn't even known she had had.  But sometimes Sally
hit too close to the mark.  She was in a rut-a nice, comfortable rut, but a
rut nonetheless.  She had her books and her garden, her comfortable house,
and her routine.

   Her husband was comfortable, too.  She loved him, but she had known him,
it seemed, forever.  She loved being in bed with him, but she had to admit,
she secretly wanted more.  Reading erotica on the Web, secret masturbation
to her fantasies - not even Sally knew about that - had awakened a yearning
for that first giddy excitement of discovering sex, and later, of trying
its variations each for the first time.  She wanted to feel again like she
felt when her husband, when he was then her boyfriend, had been the first
to rub her between her legs.  Lord, she had felt naughty that night-the
first time her parents had allowed her to wear a miniskirt on a date.

   Maybe she did need to do something risky.  But yoga in the nude? 
Posturing in unflattering positions that would exhibit every part of her
body?  It was easy for Sally-Sally was only thirty-two and had a face and
body that made lesser women contemplate pacts with the Devil...  not to
mention her sexually uninhibited nature.  She would be checking out the
eyes of the men to see if they were looking, and probably checking out
other parts of their bodies as well.  Daphne knew she wouldn't look, but
she'd feel every eye burn her skin like a hot iron.

   Over dinner that night, she said to her husband, "Did I tell you that my
self-defence instructor took me aside and told me I had great potential? 
Sally too.  He suggested we study with his old teacher."

   "Just you and Sally?  Hmm, only the two most beautiful women in the
class are invited, eh?  Sounds like self-defense is not what he had in mind
studying..."

   "Oh, stop it.  But you're right that it's not self-defense.  He says we
need something both strenuous and meditative.  He wants us to take a yoga
class."

   "So, do you want to do it?"

   "I don't know, honey.  It's flattering, but..."

   "But?"

   "Well, he says his teacher is very traditional and strict, and that his
teacher says clothes restrict movement and interfere with his ability to
see whether the student has achieved the correct posture."

   "Nude yoga?  Sounds like an adolescent boy's dream.  But you are a
mature woman.  And you'll know whether the class is serious very quickly.
Why don't you give it a try."

   As soon as she heard the phrase "mature woman," Daphne knew she would be
taking the class.  Her husband hadn't meant it that way, but she would
prove she still had it, even at fifty.  She had kept in shape, and her body
was quite satisfactory, thank you.  Maybe her hips were a little
exaggerated compared to runway models, and maybe her breasts were only
adequate, rather than the pumped up DDs that men's magazines favoured... 
maybe Playboy wasn't beating down her door for a pictorial, but she had
seen men look at her.  And she knew that "mature" was not the first thing
that came to their minds.

   And so it was that she and Sally found themselves nude under short silk
robes, two of three women among seventeen men of the class, facing a wall
of mirrors in a karate studio, waiting for their teacher to appear. 
Feeling enormously self-conscious, she noted that the men also seemed
nervous.  And then, suddenly, as if he had appeared from thin air, a man
stood in front of them.  A man with disconcertingly blue eyes under a
jet-black head of hair, looking out from an almost olive complexion.  A man
whose eyes seemed bottomless, whose utter calm seemed in contrast to his
aura of command-a man who could only be their teacher.

   "Relax.  Sit down." He matched action to words, dropping effortlessly
into the lotus position.  Several of the students, including Sally and
Daphne unhesitatingly followed suit.  So great was the teacher's presence
that Daphne did not even blush at the exposure caused by the short robe and
the lotus seat until she happened to glance down, several seconds later.

   "My name is Sean Callahan.  I will be your teacher.  Please call me
'Sensei' within these walls.  I know it's not a traditional title for yoga,
but it's what I'm comfortable with.  Let me tell you a little about the
class before we start.  You are all here because someone has recommended
you to me as having strong chi.  Two ladies come from a self-defense class,
Mr.  Evans from another Yoga class with another master, and the rest from
martial arts classes.  My goal will be to help you develop your sense of
and control of your chi.

   "I have studied the various Eastern religious doctrines traditionally
surrounding chi, and frankly, I don't believe religion is the answer.  I do
believe that the body contains something more than its physical components.
Call it a soul, call it chi, call it The Force from Star Wars, call it
whatever you like.  I use the term chi.  Sometimes chi manifests itself in
a body as perceptible energy.  Advanced martial artists have all felt it,
and some can summon it at will.  The hysterical strength that lets a mother
pull a door off a car to save her baby is a manifestation of chi. 
Different people manifest it different ways.  We'll begin with yoga for all
of you.  Yoga gives you a good base.  But I may find that your chi needs a
different discipline to respond to, so don't try to judge yourself by what
others are doing."

   By the fifth week, Daphne no longer blushed when she dropped her robe to
begin the class.  Being one of three women in a class of twenty no longer
bothered her.  She no longer felt the eyes of the others, the men.  In
fact, she knew they weren't even looking.  Their concentration, like hers,
was turned inward, in an attempt to master a recalcitrant body, to focus a
wandering mind, and especially to earn the very rare words of praise
delivered so parsimoniously by Sensei.

   At home, she practiced diligently.  She knew she didn't have the
flexibility that came with lifelong yoga training, so she concentrated on
balance and strength.  But try as she might, she couldn't attain the level
of focus at home that she did at the dojo.  After several weeks, she had
mentioned it to Sensei, and he had asked to see her house.

   "Dear," she said to her husband, "Sensei wants to see the house.  I told
him I couldn't concentrate as well here, and he asked to come by.  I
invited him to dinner Thursday night.  I hope you don't mind."

   "Mind?  No, indeed.  I've been wanting to meet the leader of your cult
for quite a while."

   "What do you mean, 'cult'?  It's just a yoga class."

   Her husband laughed.  "Just a class?  I haven't seen you so serious
about anything for years.  And, to hear you talk-and Sally-too, you'd
follow this guy off a cliff if it would earn some praise from him.  Heck,
yeah, I want to meet this Svengali to see what's so special."

   "Well, it's not like that at all," she replied, "and you will see him
Thursday."

   She fussed and cooked and worried all day Thursday.  She cleaned and
straightened.  She wanted everything perfect.  She hardly noticed her
husband when he arrived home, greeting him with a perfunctory kiss and
distracted thanks for the wine he had brought home to accompany dinner,
before returning to her chores.

   And then he was there.  Looking past her husband to the man framed by
the open doorway, she was startled.  After the introductory lecture, she
had hardly looked at him in the dojo.  She felt his presence, heard his
instruction, and even watched his demonstrations-but she had been turned
inward, concentrating so hard, that she hadn't really looked at him.  But,
in that doorway, when his icy-blue eyes looked past her husband and focused
on her, she felt like the world had been reduced to a tunnel, running from
those eyes to hers.  She was certain he had felt it, too.

   Dinner passed like a dream to her.  She did her part with the small
talk-"Sure and begorra, yes, I'm pure Irish...  but Black Irish, y'know,"
he had said.  It was all she remembered later-served and removed like a
good hostess, and gave no outward sign of it, but she knew something had
changed.  Even when he corrected her with casual good humor, "Not 'Sensei'
here-call me Sean," she knew the relationship now involved her conscious
acknowledgement of him as master.

   Time and again she turned to find his eyes on her, and each time it took
a conscious effort of will to turn away.  Finally, dinner was over, and he
asked to see where she practiced.  She led the way to the sun porch.  Her
mat was already laid out as it was when she practiced, in front of the
sliding glass doors that lead to her garden.

   "I think I see the problem," he said.  "I know it sounds crazy, but the
Chinese really do have something in feng shui.  This room is not
harmonious." Turning to her husband, he said, "Will you humor me by helping
me rearrange a few things?  I'll gladly help put them back if you don't
like the result."

   Soon the room contained much the same items of furniture, but somehow
looked like a different place.  One old chair was banished, and a small
table with a flower arrangement-the centerpiece from dinner-on it was
added. Sally and her husband both voiced their approval.

   "It feels okay to me," he said, "but we won't really know until you try
it, Daphne.  Please do a few postures for us."

   Daphne blushed, and tried to demur, but her husband said he'd like to
see what she had learned himself.  She started to drop into the lotus, but
her slacks pulled against her.  She looked at him, and he said, simply,
"Correct form, please." He wasn't smiling.

   She blushed furiously, and began to unbutton her blouse.  She blushed
down to the tips of her breasts as she stripped, and kept her eyes away
from her husband.  Finally, nude, she turned toward the flower arrangement
and drew in her focus.  Almost on its own, her body flowed through her
postures, moving smoothly from one to the next, as perfect a routine as she
had ever done in the dojo.

   She felt like she had felt when she was hitting the man in the Red Man
Suit in the finale of the self-defense class.  Not thinking-just kicking
and punching, as she had been taught.  A feeling of energy-gathering,
energy that released in a final flurry of blows, leaving a feeling of all,
and yet a feeling of nothingness.  Yoga was different, of course, but she
felt the same warmth, the same energy, gather as she moved, and it seemed
to concentrate in her lower abdomen.  The postures felt effortless.  She
settled into stillness in the lotus at the end, and then flinched,
startled, when her husband applauded.

   Blushing, she turned to see him, his eyes boring into hers.  He gave her
a small bow, no more than a nod.  He approved.  It gave her an almost
sexual jolt of pleasure.  He stood and said, "I think that's done it. 
Thank you so much for the delightful dinner.  It has been a pleasure. 
Don't get up, I'll see myself out."

   When the front door closed, her husband was on her immediately.  No
words were needed for them to know they were both ready.  They didn't make
love, there on the floor-they fucked liked teenagers stealing time together
when the parents were out.  It was what they both needed.  It was what she
needed.  Later, in bed, he kidded her again about it being a cult to get
her to do that, but he allowed as how if it were a cult, he approved if he
could reap the benefits.  She hugged him to her, feeling her love for him
envelop them even as she remembered the little nod Sensei had given her.

   After her next class, he had held her back with a hand on her shoulder.
At his instruction, she found herself kneeling, Japanese style, on a
cushion in Sensei's office.  While she waited for him, she took in the
stark, traditional emptiness of the room: tatami mats, a low desk or table
with another cushion behind it, a niche containing a single smooth rock,
and a wall hanging of what looked like Chinese or Japanese calligraphy.

   She was also surprised to find that the mirrored door to the office she
had seen from the other side was actually half-silvered.  From the inside
of the office, it was nearly transparent, giving her a good view of the
great hall of the dojo where she had just been doing her postures.  "I
asked you-no, don't turn around, remain still-I asked you to stay today to
talk to you about the other night at your house.  You felt it, didn't you?"

   Sitting still as commanded, she answered the voice behind her, "I'm not
sure what you mean, Sensei."

   "You felt your chi.  You felt this..." She hadn't heard him move, but
his voice was a whisper beside her ear.  Suddenly she felt his presence,
felt heat at her back...  No, inside her back.

   "Lace your fingers on the back of your head, like prisoners do.  Keep
them there."

   It was the voice of command, no less demanding for being whispered.  She
put her hands up behind her head and intertwined her fingers.  She felt, as
much as saw, his hands come around her waist.  Careful not to touch her,
his hands untied the belt to her robe.  When she started to move her arms,
he said, "Be still." She resumed her position as his hands opened her robe.

   "Move your knees apart." His hands moved up, close to her but not
touching, until his palms were opposite her cheeks.  He held them there,
and she felt the heat again, like a blush, and yet different.  He moved his
hands down, very slowly, still close but never touching, and heat seemed to
follow them.  He paused with his hand cupped around, but still not
touching, her breasts.  Her nipples, already erect, seemed to become a
focus for the heat, as if the breasts funnelled it to the points.  She was
almost disappointed when his hands moved on, down again slowly.  As his
hands moved between her thighs, he put his right hand over his left to keep
from touching her.  It seemed to double the intensity of the heat, which
seemed to flow from his hands to her sex.  She felt as if she were getting
warmer and warmer, filling with heat like a coffee cup fills from the pot.
Her clitoris was tumescent, wanting.  She was filled with desire, with a
need for climax, with a need to be touched.

   His right hand moved up quickly and pulled her right hand away from her
head, and down to the heat.  He pushed her hand against her mons and said,
"Release your chi."

   Her need was great, and she masturbated in front of him without
reservation, without blushing.  She came in great, gasping moans, feeling
an intensity to her climax that stunned her.  She had read about people, in
China perhaps, who inserted knotted ropes in the anus of their partner, and
pulled them out at the moment of climax.  She felt the knots of energy in
her belly leave her through her sex in what she imagined was a similar
feeling, dissipating themselves in her orgasms.

   When she was through, he pulled her back against his chest, and
supported her.

   "I saw it that night.  Your chi is gathered and intensified by
submission, freed with sex.  I bet you and your husband fucked as soon as I
left, and I bet it was good for you.  We'll continue the yoga to help you
learn to focus your mind, but we'll need some other exercises to focus your
chi."

   She said, wearily, drained by the intensity of the experience, "Are you
going fuck me now?" She knew she would not resist.

   "I'll see you next week at class," was the reply.  "Go home now."

   He was not in the room when she finally rose, grabbed her clothes, and
drove home in her robe.  And, although she had walked out dragging, driving
home in only her short thin robe was like a shot of adrenaline-and an
aphrodisiac.  The further she drove, the more she realized that she was
practically naked.  Her robe didn't cover her mound when she sat in the
car, and every movement tended to loosen the hold of the belt, threatening
to let her breasts escape.  She almost hoped a truck or van would drive by,
so the driver could see her.

   It didn't happen, but by the time she got home, she was ready.  Her
husband never knew what hit him, but it wasn't tender lovemaking.  He
didn't complain.  She brooded over events for a week, and considered
quitting the class.  But she was there again for the next class,
self-conscious at first.  She surprised herself with her discipline,
though, quickly turning inward toward the meditative blankness she sought.
Even as she felt the energy, the chi, building in her again, she was not
distracted by thoughts of the previous week's episode.  It was only when
class was over, and she received no instruction to stay, that realized she
wanted it to happen again.

   She fumed all the way home.  Not only had Sensei ignored her, but Sally
had been tapped on the shoulder, and held back as the class left.  Worse
yet, it happened again the next week.  Sally was kept back.  Daphne thought
she was angry, but she knew what she really wanted-for Sensei to notice
her, to praise her, to tap her shoulder and keep her back.  She worked even
harder in class, trying to please him.  But her mind was too full.

   Finally, the third week after the "lesson," she resigned herself to
losing out to Sally, and put thoughts of praise aside.  She focused her
mind and did it for herself, not for Sensei's eye.  The class was over
before she knew it, the time having passed unnoticed in her concentration.
She was surprised by the hand on her shoulder.

   "You concentrated well in class.  It is time for your next lesson.  Go
to my office and kneel on the cushion behind the desk.  Close your eyes and
wait for me."

   Her eyes were closed as instructed when she heard the door open.  She
resisted the urge to turn and look.  She never heard him enter, but she
sensed his presence behind her.  Silently his hands came around her again.
It began as a repeat of the previous lesson.  Her knees were already spread
wide this time, so no words were needed.  When his hands stopped in front
of her sex, she could feel the energy and desire build.

   Then the phone rang, and his hands disappeared.  Between rings, she
heard him shift behind her, and then a speakerphone echoed Sally's voice.

   "Daphne, Daphne, are you there?" Sal sounded out of breath.  Daphne
didn't know whether she should answer, but her indecision was made
irrelevant when he said, "She's listening.  Tell her what's happening."

   "Oh God, Daphne, Ken Lee, from our self-defense class, he's here and he
stripped me and tied me.  He's going to spank me, and you have to help me.
You are the..." Whack!  "Ow! ...only one that can."

   He spoke again.  "Tell her what she has to do."

   "Please, Daphne, you have to come.  Ken will spank me until..." Whack!
"Oh, shit... ...until you come."

   "Open your eyes, Daphne," he commanded.  He was naked, by the door that
led to the dojo floor.  The half-silvered door.  The door through which she
could see a naked Sally tied to something like a sawhorse, butt up.  A rosy
butt, with Ken Lee, naked and erect, with his hand raised.  A cell phone
lay on the floor beneath Sally's face.

   "Tell her what to do, Sally."

   "Please, Daphne, touch yourself." Whack!  "...Unngh.  Do it, Daphne. 
Please."

   As if controlled by an external force, her hands cupped her breasts, and
she began to caress them gently.  She slowly moved her hands down, blushing
furiously.  She tentatively stroked her mound, blushing furiously under his
gaze.

   "Daphne?" Whack!  "Are you doing it?  Please do it, Daphne."

   "She's doing it, but without much enthusiasm.  Could be a long night for
you, Sally."

   Whack!  "Shit, that stings!  Oh, Lord, Daphne, do it fast.  Make
yourself come!"

   Daphne speeded up her stroking, but she was distracted.  She couldn't
take her eyes off him, and that erection.  But she was seeing Sally in her
mind's eye, tied and spanked, almost wishing it were her in Sally's place.

   Whack!  "Oooow."

   "She's doing better now, Sally, but I think it will be slow going like
this.  Do you think I should help her, Sally?"

   "Yesss!  Let him have you, Daphne.  Let him make you..." Whack! 
"...make you come."

   Once again, his hands hovered over her mons, over her hands, never
touching.  Once again, the heat seemed to concentrate in her abdomen, then
in her groin.  And then she came.  Loudly, fully, feeling complete release.
The pleasure was suddenly overshadowed by a feeling of transcendence in her
mind-a feeling of oneness with all, yet nothingness at the same time.  And
then it was gone, leaving the departing flashes of pleasure like the
aftershocks of an earthquake.

   She lay back with her legs open in silent invitation.  She waited for
him to enter her.  Instead, his erection wilted and he spoke into the
phone.

   "She came."

   She heard, "Oh, thank you, Daphne.  Thank you.  I don't know how much
longer I could have taken it.  Shit, I'm hot."

   Then Ken Lee's voice, "I have my finger in her, and she's wet as hell.
What should I do to her, Daphne?"

   Daphne was surprised when she heard her own voice whisper, "Fuck her
hard."

   He repeated her words into the phone, "She said, 'Fuck her hard,' Ken."

   She saw Ken move behind Sally, and heard a gasp, and then the phone went
dead.  He pulled a curtain across the door and shrugged on his clothes.

   "You didn't concentrate this time, Daphne.  You let yourself be
distracted.  I could feel the chi, but it was unfocused.  I thought you had
shown me you could overcome distraction.  Work on the yoga.  When you are
ready, we'll have another lesson." He walked out.

   She slumped back, her mind in turmoil.  In a corner of her mind, she
noted that she was not troubled deeply by what she had done, as to how it
affected her marriage.  feeling an "I'll think about that later" box slam
down around those feelings.  Instead, she was crushed that he had scolded
her.  And rejected her.  What did he want me to do?  she thought.  Sally on
the phone, me naked and masturbating in front of a man not my husband... 
How was I to concentrate on chi, damn it?  Deeper, where she could pretend
it wasn't so, she wondered why he didn't find her attractive enough to take
her.

   Keeping the incident in a mental box, she went about her normal
routines. Some guilt trickled out, expressed by going out of her way to
please her husband, but mostly she applied herself to acting as if nothing
had happened.  With two exceptions: she tried to avoid having to speak to
Sally, and she skipped her classes at the dojo.  She knew if she saw either
Sensei or Sally, she would not be able to hide her embarrassment.

   After missing two classes, he called.  "Be in class tomorrow."

   No greeting, no inquiries as to why she had missed, just a one-sentence
command, and a connection broken.  She tried to feel anger-outrage at his
presumption-but couldn't sustain it.  She was in class the next day.

   And nothing happened.  She and Sally had exchanged blushes, and sealed
with their eyes an unspoken pact not to speak about it.  They found that
they dropped easily back into their prior relationship, with only the
tiniest wariness of each other.  Sensei acted no differently, making his
usual critiques of her technique and focus.  A great weight, that she had
not known had existed, was lifted from her.

   After a while, though, she began to get depressed.  Three classes... 
three weeks...  and no instruction to stay late.  She was not sure she
wanted to get the summons-she still wasn't even letting herself think about
how this all related to her husband-but she couldn't help wondering what
was wrong with her.  Twice in those three weeks, Sally had stayed late. 
Daphne had waited outside, parked down the street.  Sally had come out
about an hour and a half later, obviously bantering and flirting with Ken
Lee and Sensei as they locked up.  She wondered what Sally had that she
didn't.  But she knew what Sally had.  Comparative youth and that gorgeous
body.  How was she to compete?

   The depression didn't last.  Daphne was strong-minded anyway, and she
found that her work in the dojo had given her discipline to go with that
strength, when she used it.  She found that she could now easily put aside
her jealousy of Sally, and enjoy the intimacy that her friendship offered
again.  Indeed, she found the inner resources to transcend many of life's
small intrusions, while concentrating on building herself from the inside.
Her husband had noticed the change, commenting on her serenity and
self-confidence.

   The feeling of energy built inside her easily as she did her exercises
now, leaving her feeling vigorous and refreshed, even after a strenuous
session.  And her sex life had blossomed.  She sought out her husband
often, and performed with an abandon that she had never had before, even
better than the novelties of youth.  Her husband had not commented
directly, but after many years of routine, he was suddenly inclined to
impromptu gestures of affection-unexpected flowers, mouthing "I love you"
across the room at a party, hand-drawn cards and notes.  Neither of them
complained.

   Having put the strange and sexual "lessons" out of her head as some kind
of experiment by Sensei that didn't work, now given up as a failure, she
was surprised when he called.  As usual, there were no polite inquiries as
to how she was doing, just a statement and a command.  "You have progressed
well.  You are ready for another lesson.  There is an envelope on your
front door with instructions." That was all.

   She quickly put down the phone, and hurried to the door.  The envelope
had been wedged between the door and jamb, and it fell when she opened the
door.  She grabbed it and ripped it open.  "I will be at your house
tomorrow at two.  Leave the front door unlocked.  You will be on your
exercise mat, nude, blindfolded, in the extended Child's Posture.  When you
hear me approach, you will raise your hips off of your heels and wait.  You
will not move, take off the blindfold, or speak, or the lesson will end. 
To confirm that you are ready for your lesson, and that you understand your
instructions, you will tape a note to the outside of your door, written out
in your handwriting, that says exactly the following: 'Nudity is required.
No talking, or it will be ended.  I am on my exercise mat, in the correct
posture, waiting.'"

   He can't be serious, she thought.  Does he really expect me to kneel,
blindfolded, with my bare butt up for whatever stranger tries the door? 
She tore the note in half and tossed it in the little trash container by
the door.  When her husband arrived and went on to the bedroom to change,
she had quickly pulled the note out again, hiding it in her current book.
To make sure he doesn't happen upon it, she told herself.  It took all her
newfound discipline get through that night without seeming unduly
distracted.

   The next day she told herself that she should call Sensei to tell him
not to bother.  But she remembered he closed the dojo on Wednesdays, and
she didn't know his home number.  Well, she thought, he'll get the message
when the door is locked with no note.

   At five minutes to two, she was no longer trying to kid herself.  The
door was unlocked, the note was there, and she was nude on her mat, making
the salaam that was the extended Child's Posture.  She was doing every
meditative exercise she could think of to stay calm.  When she heard the
door open, her resolve almost faltered.  Her hands started for the
blindfold, as she began to raise her forehead from the mat.  But then she
mentally shook herself, and focused inward.  She pushed her fear from her
mind, and let it clear.  She had already begun to feel the warmth, the
energy, gathering in her as she relaxed.  Her will was gone, dissipated
like dew under the sun.  She knew she would submit to him.

   When she heard the steps behind her, she raised her hips, keeping her
forehead on the floor and her arms extended in front of her.  In a corner
of her mind, she knew the vision she presented.  There was only one reason
for her to be in this position, and she knew she wanted it.  She was going
to be fucked.  She assumed it would be Sensei.  If not, it would be at
Sensei's command.  Either way, she was here, now, to offer herself; to be
fucked.  She felt her labia blossom under the eyes of her unseen observer.
She felt like her essence had begun to flow to her mound, a charge building
as if she were a thundercloud, getting ready for the lightning to strike.

   She sensed him go to his knees behind her.  She was not surprised when
she felt him enter her in one sure thrust.  She had expected his entry to
discharge her build up, but instead, his steady, long strokes seemed to
pump her up.  She was surprised when she heard someone walk to her front
and kneel.  It was a man's smell.  She almost spoke, before accepting her
position.

   The man in front of her put his hands gently on her head and raised her
up.  She felt something on her lips, and took him into her mouth.  She half
expected this to break the spell, but instead the erection in her mouth
also seemed to pump that charge, that energy, into her.

   It couldn't have been long that they were in her, but to her it seemed
like forever.  The two men pumped, literally and figuratively.  She felt
almost like a balloon, getting bigger and bigger.  Wanting, needing, to
burst.  But getting no release yet.  And then she heard the door open
again. The two men held her still.  The cock in her mouth began to spurt,
and she was forced to swallow.  She thought the man in her vagina had also
come.  Then, as quietly as they had come, they withdrew.  She heard them
exit through the glass doors.

   She put her forehead to the floor again and waited.  Again she heard the
footsteps, and sensed someone kneeling behind her.  She felt a hand rub her
wet slit, and then another erection entered her.  But this time it was no
long steady stroke-it was fast and hard.  Hands gripped her hips and pulled
her back against him.  Her cheeks bounced off his pelvis.  She felt herself
reaching the breaking point.  She could take no more.  She exploded in
orgasm.  She felt the built-up charge arc out of her body like a spark-no,
like lightning.  Her sheath convulsed again and again, and her silence was
no more.  She moaned out her pleasure and her release.  Her fervor was too
much for the man behind her.  He jammed his cock in as far as it would go
and grunted out his own release, convulsing himself several times.  Again
she felt that fleeting sense of transcendence, the feeling of all, and of
nothing.  Then she lost consciousness.

   When she awoke, her blindfold was off and her husband was pushing back
damp, stray strands of hair from her forehead.  His own forehead showed
beads of sweat, but his flushed face sported an enormous grin.  She idly
wondered if he had seen Sensei and the other man leave, if knew he had slid
into another man's come.  Still not speaking, he got up and offered her his
hand.  They walked, nude, to the bathroom.  It wasn't until they stood,
arms around each other in the shower spray, with a newly erect cock pressed
between them that a word was spoken.

   He said, "I love you.  I can't believe you did this.  I was hard all the
way home after I got your message." For a second, she was puzzled.  She had
not left a message.  Then she smiled, and pulled him down to her and kissed
him.

   "That was amazing.  Incredibly intense.  I swear, it almost felt like
you were taking my excitement and adding yours, and then giving it back to
me.  Is this some yoga trick?  I approve."

   She knew then that the power Sensei had over her did not come from him,
but rather was given to him by her.  She had just demonstrated to herself
she could share that power with her husband, her love.  Sensei was
exciting, but he was no longer necessary.

   "Yeah, the yoga has done something for me that makes the sex with you
great again.  But it also affects me in class.  Sensei has hinted that my
chi is tied up with my sexuality, and that I will only progress if my
lessons involve sexual activities.  I think he is right.  Lord knows I get
so hot I want to fuck the nearest man when I feel the pressure of chi.  So
I've decided to quit the classes."

   "Are you sure?  I've never seen you so happy and confident, and I know I
enjoy the side effects."

   "Babe, let me make it clear to you.  He mentioned tantric sex to me in
the last class.  I looked it up on the Internet.  There was a lot of mumbo
jumbo about chakras and delayed or continuous orgasms that affect
spirituality, but there is no doubt in my mind that the lessons will
involve real sex.  Sensei, and maybe others, having sex with me.  I belong
to you, my husband.  I know that as sure as I know anything.  I won't do
anything to hurt you." She blushed and looked down, remembering what she
had already done, but determined not to let it happen again.

   "Daphne, do you love him?  Do you want him?"

   The questions shocked her, but helped her resolve her last bit of
confusion.  "No, honey, I don't love him.  I respect him and admire him. 
And yes, I want him.  Or rather, I want to continue the journey.  If I go
back, sooner or later, I'll let him have me.  So I'm not going back."

   He bent her over and took her from behind.  As he thrust himself into
her, he said, "Go back to class next week." Again the heat built in her. 
She hardly noticed as the hot water began to tail out.

   This time, when she saw Sensei at the next class, it was she that
nodded. His return bow was deep.  It was better than effusive praise.  She
wondered what the next lesson would be.

   ??

   ??

   ??

   ??