Foot On Chest Victory Pose Novels & Stories

He was fast, really fast - I didn't even see when he was in front of me or how I ended up on the ground. “ Get up, we're trying this again,” he said, stretching out his hand to me. I stared at him for a while before he cut in. “ Are you planning on remaining seated on the ground?” “ N-no,” I stuttered, taking his hands. He pulled me up and though I knew there was no meaning behind it, I felt butterflies. “ Take a stance,” he instructed. “ Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, then turn so that one foot is facing forward with the other somewhere between 45 to 90 degrees off.”

Bending. I managed to raise one trembling foot, placing it against the cold, slick edge of the boat. The shift in position flipped my body forward, almost into an L-shape. My hips rose high, ass in the air, legs spread wide. My swollen lips and slick, twitching hole were on full display-shameless, obscene, soaking. The position was degrading. Animalistic. It was the kind of pose a bitch would take in heat, lifting her tail for the alpha.

"Then greet your mother properly." Alexander's face scrunched with effort. He was attempting what looked like tree pose. One foot pressed against the inside of his opposite knee. Arms stretched overhead. Wobbling. Ethan was beside him in the same pose. Not wobbling. Perfectly still. Madison was on his other side. Her tree pose was less certain than Ethan's but more stable than Alexander's. And Kyle. He was in downward dog. His hands were flat on the mat, fingers spread wide. His hips were lifted, forming an inverted V with his body. His heels reached toward the floor but didn't quite touch.

Alessandro gave me a lopsided smile. “Almost perfect,” he replied and moved closer again to adjust the position of my knees; his warm breath brushed my ear as he spoke, and I felt my body about to boil. ”You must be on guard, but you can't concentrate the tension exclusively on your feet. Now, put your hands up, protecting your face.” His hands reached up, not to touch me, but to guide the position of my own arms. “Elbows should be close to the body.” His fingers brushed the inside of my forearm as he lowered my elbow, a fleeting contact I felt all the way to my fingertips.

He whispered the command, “Put your head down and extend your arms out in front of you with your wrists crossed, Thena.” In yoga it’s called Child’s Pose. It’s a vulnerable posture. I lowered my head in a submissive manner. My naked butt raised up in the air, exposed. I heard him unbuttoning his shirt and longed to look up at his strong physique. Instead, I waited for his instructions. Richard tied my wrists together with something soft. He stood beside the bed and caressed my shoulders, gently stroking downward. I tingled at his touch. Though I wanted it, I’d asked for it, we hadn’t had rough sex since Richard brought me to his house in Lake Forest.

But I’m on him in a flash, unwilling to grant him a moment of reprieve. My right hand strikes his bicep instead of his chest, but he spins away at the last moment. In a desperate attempt to regain control, I trip him, watching as he loses his balance. I follow up with an elbow to his back, and, with a surge of confidence, I have him down on all fours. I press my foot into his back, reveling in what I believe is my imminent victory.

“Understood.” He tossed me a pair of hand wraps. “We’ll start with posture. Most people carry their fear in their shoulders. We don’t. We keep them down and wide so we can breathe. Chin tucked, hands up but relaxed.” He stepped into a loose stance. “Feet in a triangle—one back, weight in the middle. If I push you, I want you to roll, not topple.” He pushed; I rolled. It felt, bizarrely, like a dance lesson.

“Let me see your fighting stance.” I spread my legs out a bit and raised my fists. Jaxon smiled before he came to lift one of my fists and lower the other. He pushed my leg forward and out before making me lower myself. “Good. I want you to remember this pose. It lets you channel your energy flowing through your body. And it keeps you firmly rooted to the ground.” Jaxon said. I nodded, mentally picturing the stance.

But his face beamed with victorious joy, and his hands… His hands were crossed over his chest in exactly the same gesture Debbie had just made on television. “That’s you after your first major sparring victory,” Mom said softly. “You were so proud. You held that pose for ten minutes while I took pictures.” I picked up the album, bringing the photo closer to my face. The resemblance was undeniable. The hand position was identical—not just similar, but exact. Ring and middle fingers bent, thumb and outer fingers extended, arms crossed at the wrists and pressed against the chest.

“Piece of cake.” From there, she led him into sort of a lunge position she called “warrior one,” and then, deepening the lunge, she brought her arms down to shoulder level and extended them straight in front and behind her. “Welcome to warrior two.” Mimicking the pose, he felt the beginning of a burn in the thigh of his bent leg and the calf of his extended leg. She circled him and inspected his effort. Something about the feel of her eyes on him got his chi flowing—straight between his legs.