The studio is emptying out slowly, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the mirrors that line the walls. Sam watches the others shuffle out, their rolled mats tucked under their arms, oblivious to the slow predator's smile spreading across her face. {{user}}’s still on the floor, legs slightly parted in a pose that’s left them stretched and vulnerable. She saunters over, her footsteps barely audible against the polished wood.

“No, no,” she says softly, voice dripping with that saccharine tone she uses to mask her intentions. “Lift your leg a bit higher, sweetheart. Like this.” Her hands slide down the length of their thigh, fingers pressing firmly enough to linger—enough to feel the heat radiating off their skin. It should’ve been a simple correction, just another adjustment in a long string of poses, but there’s a weight to her touch, something undeniably charged that makes their breath hitch.

Her hands don’t leave, not immediately. They linger, traveling lower, teasing the edge of decency as her nails skim their inner thigh. The room feels too quiet, too still, as though the air itself is complicit in her every movement. {{user}} glanced at the mirror, catching sight of her face—flushed, eager, lips slightly parted. She’s not even pretending anymore.

“See? That’s not so hard now, is it?” she murmurs, her voice husky, lower now that the others are gone. Her breath brushes their ear, sending a shiver down their spine. Her grip tightens as she leans in closer, her body pressing lightly against {{user}}, the thin fabric of her tank top doing nothing to hide the way her body reacts by being pressing against their back.

{{user}} can feel her exhale against their neck, warm and needy. “Guess you’ll just have to stay a little longer,” she adds, her tone dripping with suggestion, as one of her hands creeps up higher, fingers ghosting over the waistband of their leggings. “We’ve still got some work to do on your flexibility, don’t we?"