All Breathing Styles Novels & Stories

When I initially started playing professionally, I consulted a sports psychologist who taught me a breathing method. Breathe in carefully for five counts, hold the breath for five counts, and then release the breath on the fifth count. Five times over, repeat. I picture a spotless sheet of white while I work. A chilly air on my skin, a ring of boards and glass around me, enclosing and grounding me, and a huge slab of ice beneath my feet.

"And I need you to breathe with me. Can you do that?" I tried to shake my head, but his hands held me still—not forcefully, but firmly enough that I couldn't look away from his eyes. "Yes, you can," Nicholas insisted. "Watch me. Focus on nothing but my breathing. Breathe in—" He took a slow, deep breath, his chest expanding. "Hold—" He paused for a beat. "And out." He exhaled slowly and deliberately. I tried desperately to follow his rhythm, my lungs fighting against me. In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

I gave him a thumbs up! "Good because now we can get down and dirty!" His strong ass begins to lift and lower me. Slowly at first. But I'm having trouble breathing. He instructs me to. "Breathe through your nose, Babe." I do. And, whew! It instantly makes a difference. He didn't stop though. And before I can get used to the position. He speeds up! I hear him moaning. Cool! That means I'm doing good! Right?

It surpassed his former understanding of martial arts. The so-called Heaven and Earth Art was a breathing method. It was important for one to breathe in the fresh morning air. Air could be said to be Spiritual Energy. It was heaven and earth’s Spiritual Energy. Fresh air was most abundant in the morning. James began to breathe according to the Heaven and Earth Art’s breathing method. Swoosh. With the fresh air entering his body, heaven and earth’s energy also permeated his body. His body felt an indescribable comfort, and his bones cracked.

Knees softly bent. Spine loose but upright. I coached him through a few cycles of breath. Already I saw the resistance in him, the way his body coasted on discipline but bristled against anything that felt like therapy. The slow inhale, the sharper exhale through his nose, the restless twitch in his fingers. He was bored. Maybe even insulted. But he followed instructions. Then movement. Slow punches into the air. No speed. No power. Just form and breath. Every strike paired with an exhale. Every pause deliberate.

"Feel the power inside you. It's there, buzzing just beneath your skin." "It's terrifying." "Power always is but fear makes you lose control. So we breathe through it." My thumbs press gently at the base of her neck. "In through your nose, slow, hold for three counts, out through your mouth." She tries and it's shaky at first. "Again. Find the rhythm." She breathes once, twice, three times. The glow around her hands dims slightly. "Good. You're already learning." "It doesn't feel like learning. It feels like drowning."

“Breath. Body. Boundary. Tonight we practice until you can hold yourself steady when the pull comes.” “What pull?” “You already know,” he said. We kept walking until the house lights were gone. The woods felt bigger than they had yesterday — not darker, just closer, like they’d leaned in. “Breath first,” Kai said. “In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Longer on the out.” The first breath caught halfway. The second scraped. By the sixth, my chest loosened and the hum softened. “Good,” he said. “Body next. Touch wrist, collarbone, sternum. Name what you feel.”

As a true Master, he prioritized her comfort, guiding with expertise born of experience. "We'll start with trust-building," he said, his tone deep and instructive, delving into the essence of the exercise. "Breathing first. Inhale slowly through your nose for a count of four. Hold for four. Exhale through your mouth for four. Follow my lead." He demonstrated, his breaths even and audible, a rhythmic guide. Kyra mirrored him, her chest rising and falling in sync. It was cute, the way her head tilted slightly as she concentrated, her lips parting just a bit with each exhale.

(staggered breathing) *increase pacing* *slapping of skin* “Hnnf... ah— fucking hell” (choked moan) *changing angle without removal* “Huhh... hhhah...” (gasping into panting) All filtered through the high-end speakers like some kind of performance art. No story, or slow burn. Just sweat and camera angles, the type that promise release without connection. I sit back down, eyes fixated. This should help. I lean back, loosen my jaw, settle into the comfort of detachment.

“Everything is fine.” I didn’t even realize I wasn’t breathing until he pointed it out. “Lisa, baby,” he murmurs, his tone filled with gentle reassurance. “You need to stay with me. Just listen to my voice, okay? Breathe. Breathe for me.” He takes a deep breath, demonstrating for me, and I find myself mirroring his movements. Slowly but surely, my breathing steadies. The tightness in my chest loosens, and I can finally inhale deeply on my own.