Shuffling out of his bedroom and down the hallway, Anon stifled a yawn. He hadn’t wanted to wake up before his alarm went off, but rolling over and seeing he only had five minutes left to sleep had forced his hand. He’d promised Leech he’d help her with something that morning, even if she hadn’t said what the something was, so delaying the inevitable would be a waste of time for the both of them.
“Mom,” he grumbled, knocking on her door. “Mom, you up?”
“I’m in the living room, honey!” she called out from the opposite end of the house. “Sorry I didn’t come and get you up myself, but I was getting ready.”
Executing a languid about-face, he trudged in the other direction. “Getting ready for…”
As the kitchen and living room came into view, he fell silent. Their den was spacious, having a sofa, recliner, and a record turntable on the carpeted floor, but something was different about the area. All the furniture had been pushed to the side, leaving a large vacant spot in the center of the floor. With his curiosity piqued, he scratched his back and continued onward.
“Why’d you move everything?” he asked, looking around for the giant mare.
Stepping out from the foyer, she grinned over at him. “Because we’re going to need the space, silly!”
Aside from her response not addressing his question in the slightest, her attire compounded his confusion. Pastel sweatbands circled her wrists, ankles, and forehead, a struggling sports bra clung to her chest, and what looked like a pair of yoga shorts, so tight that they may as well have been a second skin, pinched her thighs and waist. The brightly-colored sportswear contrasted her dark coat in an insanely pleasant way, the pink standing out against her dark fur, yet that was part of the problem.
While she was free to wear whatever she chose at home, out of the public eye and away from lustful stallions, he was a healthy young man with what he considered to be healthy needs - needs that her voluptuous figure and affectionate personality exacerbated. She’d taken him in, cared for him, and did everything in her power to make sure he had a comfortable life, so he couldn’t bring himself to act on his feelings for her. With a defeated groan, he wheeled around and loped back to his room.
“Let me get some sorts on,” he frustratedly intoned.
She’d mentioned wanting to get in shape on several occasions, periodically bemoaning how she’d put on weight over the years, so he wasn’t that surprised to find out she intended to make him her exercise buddy. If she wanted to lose a few pounds, that was totally fine with him - in fact, though he wasn’t particularly looking forward to the exertion, he really needed to start working out himself. Between her good cooking, a relatively sedentary life, and a job that wasn’t all that stressful, he was far from the peak of fitness himself.
After hastily throwing on a pair of jogging shorts and a tank-top, he returned to the living room with lifted spirits. Working out wouldn’t be the funnest thing in the world, but it might help him get a marefriend for himself - that and he’d rather not deal with the long-term determinants of slothful life. While he doubted he’d ever be some buff gym rat, having some definition and losing his belly should be achievable with enough time and effort.
“So I’m guessing we’re doing something inside?” he inquired, watching her sink to her knees on the floor.
“For the time being, yeah. It’s too hot to do much of anything outside,” she harrumphed, glancing over at the window.
Easing himself down next to her, he fell to one knee. “Fair enough. So what’s the plan?”
She leaned to one side and grabbed a little box resting by the couch. “These should help and make things interesting - like a game!”
Taking the package from her hand, he opened the box and discovered it was a pack of cards. Instead of holding a numbered suit, each card depicted a different yoga position. The concept was novel, making something fun out of what would usually be a taxing endeavor, and he figured it couldn’t hurt to give it a shot. He thoroughly shuffled the deck and set it down between himself and the massive mare, feeling a bit more enthused about the impending ordeal.
“You draw,” he instructed.
Flipping over one card, she smiled. “Downward dog. I’ll go first!”
“I think we can both…” he began, but it was too late.
She kicked her legs out behind her, placed her palms on the floor, and inched her feet forward. Though the pose wasn’t the hardest thing he’d seen in the deck, with some positions looking like you’d need a spine made out of jello, he momentarily doubted she’d be able to pull it off; she proved him wrong with jarring speed. With her body forming an almost perfect ninety-degree angle, her ass thrust up into the air, she looked over and smirked at him.
Tearing his eyes off her immaculately presented, upturned rump, he pursed his lips. He wasn’t about to let her outshine him - no way, no fucking how. He was younger than her, more slender than her, and he should be able to pull off the pose as easily as she had - sadly, as he struggled to get into position, he found out it was no easy task. Despite his grunting and groaning, sucking in his gut and flexing his legs, his body refused to obey him.
“No no no,” she tutted, getting back onto her knees and shifting to face him. “Here - like this…”
With one of her hands on the back of his thighs, and the other sliding over his shoulder blades, he set his jaw. She was doing her best to assist him, simply holding him steady, yet the physical contact sent an excited shiver surging through him. Her hands were soft and warm, her words were quiet and comforting, and her delicate, feminine aroma tickled his nostrils, making the ordeal herculean.
Sliding one hand up his back, around his side, and to his abdomen, she lifted his midsection. “Tense here…”
“Didn’t know - Nnnph - you knew yoga?” he wheezed.
“Oh yeah, this is nothing,” she laughed. “I might not look like it now, but I used to be very flexible.”
Only able to achieve the downward dog with her assistance, holding the pose for only a few seconds, he collapsed to the floor and grimaced. “Guess that explains why -”
“This is a really tricky one,” she stated, cutting him off.
As he looked over in her direction, his heart shot into his throat. Balanced on her tush, with her legs folded behind her arms and pressed together at the back of her head, she placed her palms together and slowly exhaled. The position was as obscene as it was confounding, her thighs lewdly parted and tits smashed together, and it filled his head with all the wrong ideas.
Humming softly to herself, she cracked an eye open peer out at him. “It’s called the sleeping yogi.”
In defiance of his better judgment, acting of their own volition, he peeked down at her groin. The imprint of her plump loins and pillowy thighs through her shorts was the stuff horny colts dreamt about, sending blood to the last place he needed it to be. He shuddered to think what her pliability could do in a more lecherous context, doing the sort of things that could wrap any stallion or mare lucky enough to share an intimate evening with her around her finger, as he forced himself to avert his gaze.
“Good for you,” he grouched, flipping the next card on the deck over.
“Oooooooooooooooooh!” she excitedly purred. “Seated straddle - this is a fun one!”
Slipping her feet from behind her head, she spread her legs and placed her palms against the floor. The ease with which she was able to attain such a feat was galling, making him look like an arthritic senior in comparison, but he wasn’t about to throw in the towel. He clumsily mirrored her movements, awkwardly splaying his lower limbs while feeling like something in his pelvis was going to tear. While he couldn’t perform the near-split as well as her, he took some modicum of pride that he was able to get pretty damn close.
Her eyes wandered over him, lingering on his crotch for just long enough to make him nervous, before they ultimately found their way to his pinched expression. “Not too bad, sweetheart. If you keep up with stretches like that, you might not need a marefriend.”
The remark, paired with her cheeky grin and an impish look in her eye, brought a scowl to his face. “Says the old mare who’s apparently double-jointed everywhere.”
“Not everywhere,” she whispered, grabbing and lifting one leg straight over her head, “but pretty close.”
Her dexterity was beyond what some contortionists could achieve, and he was finding it harder and harder to keep himself from imagining what salacious uses her flexibility could do in a bedroom. She’d never openly discussed past lovers, but he wouldn’t be shocked to hear she’d left a whole host of carnal conquests in her wake. She was energetic, happy-go-lucky, strong, and resourceful, things that any allegedly heterosexual stallion would kill for in a mare, so he couldn’t help but wonder how in the world she was still single.
As she flipped the next card, revealing another relatively simple pose, he steeled his resolve. He may have been a fraction of her size, lacked her level of experience, and couldn’t come close to contorting himself like she could, yet his pride wouldn’t let him quit. Giving it his very best, he went back and forth with her while pushing the boundaries of what his rigid joints could endure.
Seconds passed into minutes and longer still, his muscles aching while he grew slick with sweat, but he wasn’t the only one suffering. Leech huffed and puffed, damp patches were appearing on her clothes, and her coat glistened in places. She may not have openly complained about it, but the exercise was taking a toll on her.
“Don’t throw your back out,” he teased, laughing until something popped in his back.
Glaring over at him, she flashed her teeth. “I could keep this up, but I don’t want to make you look bad.”
He scowled, went to stand, and winced in pain. The last position he’d been in had been the epitome of deception. What he’d assumed would be easy, balancing on his hands and one knee while lifting a leg up and back, had nearly crippled him. His back seized, his limbs refused to obey him, and he’d ended up locked in place.
Leech’s mirth shifted to one of concern, seeing his unease. “Honey, are you ok?”
“I…I can’t move…” he whimpered, wracked with panic and no small amount of discomfort.
Leaping upward and landing on her feet, she stepped over, knelt down, and wrapped an arm around his torso. She didn’t say a single word, but her stoic actions spoke volumes. Lifting him from the floor, moving him like he weighed nothing, she folded his arms over his chest, pulled him to her bosom, and leaned backward. As each and every one of his vertebrae cracked, he yelped in shock.
“Ssssssssssssh,” she hissed, rocking him back and forth while letting his legs dangle freely. “Deep breaths - in and out…”
He obediently did as she asked, praying she knew what she was doing, until a soothing coolness radiated from his back. Though he still didn’t feel great, he felt much better than he had seconds prior. Craning his head and gazing up at her, wearily smiling, she straightened up and smirked down at him.
“Better?” she inquired.
“Better…” he affirmed.
Once she’d gingerly set him back down, releasing him from her grasp, he spun and instinctively gave her a hug - something he instantly came to regret. She smelled good at any given time, her natural scent being all but intoxicating, but the bouquet of her fresh sweat was enough to make him lightheaded. Ignoring the wetness against his cheek, he rubbed his face in the gully of her bust. Maybe it was because he was overwhelmed by her saving his back, or it could have been the exotic, heady musk he drew in with every breath - regardless of exactly why, he couldn’t bring himself to withdraw.
“H…honey,” she sputtered, attempting to push him back.
He closed his eyes and basked in the heat radiating from her. There was a point at which any living creature surrendered, giving up and accepting their fate, and Anon had reached that threshold. As one hand crept up her back, the other slithered down to her backside. Just as he went to give her a squeeze, he was driven backwards and slammed into the couch.
The move was so fast and shocking that he didn’t realize what had happened until he shook his head and peered upward. With her legs to either side of his hips, pinning his arms over the back of the sofa, she panted above him. The look in her eyes, her cat-like pupils reduced to razored slits, was sobering as all get-out. He couldn’t say what was going through her head, but he’d never felt more vulnerable in his life.
He’d roused something in her, a force he was utterly powerless to stop, and he was torn between abject horror and unfettered glee. She could do anything she wanted to with him, and that notion may have been the most alarmingly arousing thing he’d ever experienced before. She slowly bent forward, drool slipping past her pouting lips to glint on her chin, while the tumultuous maelstrom of emotions caused a very particular part of him to react.
Faltering, she shot forward, peered down at his groin, and sprang off of him in the blink of an eye. “I…I…” she gulped, hitching a thumb in the direction of the bathroom. “I need a shower - a very, very cold shower.”
She stumbled over herself as she ran away, stubbing her toe on the kitchen counter and cursing while she disappeared from view. The exchange left him nonplussed, literally at a loss for words, but then he felt it - the singular sensation of struggling fabric below his waistband. He hadn’t been aware of exactly how his body had responded to her spontaneous assault, yet his enthusiasm had brought the exchange with her to an all too swift end.
Sitting in silence, covering his shame with a cushion from the sofa, he waited until she was finished with her cold shower so he could fling himself under some ice-cold running water himself. He felt certain that she hadn’t meant to do something so aggressive, just like how he hadn’t intended to cause her any amount of dismay, but what was done was done. Maybe next time, if there was a next time, they should do some exercise that was slightly less provocative for either of them…