It was supposed to be a nice Saturday morning yoga class. You were suppose to exercise, work up a sweat, and even catch a glimpse of some sexy yoga girls in action.
But after the class had finished and * most * people had gone home, you realised looking at girls during the class maybe wasn’t the best thing to do, mainly because now you were looking into the face of this sadistic alpha male, his eyes giving off a hint of satisfaction as he holds a wad of your undies tightly clenched in his fist. You’re lying stomach down on the floor, gym shorts down to your ankles, and arms spread out, each one being held down by the weight of your tormentors legs as he’s sitting in front of your face. As if calling for God in the sky to show you mercy, your ass has been shot upwards, ever so often wriggling as you learn the true meaning of “tasting your own underwear”. A tiny bit of the bottom seam slowly rips as he continues pulling, but you’ve still got a long way to go.
You feel your sore ass slowly rising even higher m when he goes for your leg holes, as he becomes even more vicious showing you his atomic torturing skills. The stench of his sweat is almost as strong as the burning pain in your asscrack, the top of which becomes evermore raw as your underwear tries to split you in two.
“Not gonna look at my girlfriends tits in yoga class anymore are you mate?” he says to you, all the while capturing every look of pain and embarrassment on your face, which keeps switching between gritted teeth and an agony-ridden popped open mouth.
It was bad enough that after class he conned you into hanging back to “chat” for a few minutes, which only lead to him forcing you to sniff his feet for half an hour (and what “luck” you had that he happened to have worn the same shoes AND socks for the last three days, especially considering his football practise during that time), but the addition of the idea of one of those socks in your mouth really seemed to make him happy even more.
As you continue to find your most private and intimate piece of clothing slash through your butt and crush your manhood, you seem almost impressed your new “yoga buddy” can reach over to your pants and grab your wallet, meanwhile keeping up the same ferociousness of ensuring your ass doesn’t have even a second of clemency. This feeling of impressiveness is short lived, as he takes a snap of your residence card (which contains your home adress)
“Better turn up to the same class next week mate, I’ll be sure to be here”, he says with a smile on his face while twisting even more fabric around his hand, sending your raw, tortured ass even further towards the sky. “And just remember, before you even think of not showing up, you don’t want me and the boys turning up to your doorstep with a few packets of spare undies, do you buddy?”
You let out a muffled sigh through his sweaty, smelly sock as you hang your head in defeat. “I sure well am working up a sweat” you think to yourself as the musky male smell of your own armpits and feet start to catch your nose. He notices it too, and even jokes that he should “hang you out to air”, no imagination needed for what that might mean.
“Don’t worry mate, we’re both blokes here, but don’t smell like this anywhere near my girlfriend” he says still through his sadistic smile as he grabs the lowest part of the fabric separating the leg holes, his hand pretty much touching the top of your ass crack. You’ve been letting out muffled grunts for a while now, but now you find yourself screaming as your whole body seems to be lifted into the air, hanging at a perfect 45 degree angle as your face is squashed into your tormentors crouch.
“Says on this card you’re 26” he says to you as he examines your residence card. “I guess that’s 26 more minutes until I fully rip these undies off, at 26 hard spanks a minute. How does that sound?” Even if you wanted to answer, your muffled screams through this guys odour-ridden sock in your mouth allow you no such privilege. Your scream gets louder and deeper, as the first whack is perfectly delivered over your sweaty butt checks.
If only you slept in this morning. If only you didn’t look at this alphas girlfriend during your yoga class. If only you hadn’t clumsily pissed off a dude double your size who seemed to have mastered the art of dealing excruciating butt-ripping, crack-tearing, ass-splitting wedgies.
The second slap (of 676) on your already bruised ass sends even more feelings of regret, as you increasingly accept the rest of your fate. “Gravity must be working even harder today”, you think as you feel your ass sink even deeper into your undies, despite the fact it’s still perched high in the air.
“She did have nice tits though.”
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