The Apartment - Part 12

[audiq9]

Jane walked out of the exit and back on to the public concourse. She had her phone to her ear and was murmuring, “C’mon, c’mon, pick up…”

Not paying close attention to her surroundings, she was startled when Sassy, er, Victoria appeared in front of her, bowing her head in greeting.

“Oh!” Jane exclaimed. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Hang on a minute.” She hung up the phone and instead tapped out a quick text message.

“Now that I’ve finished that - good morning Victoria!” Jane said, smiling. “Nice to see you again!”

The corners of Victoria’s mouth tugged, but she quickly resumed her expressionless look. She was dressed (or more accurately undressed) just like she had been yesterday, but with the addition of a black athletic bra. “Good morning, mistress. Mistress Leighton is waiting for us by the yoga room.”

“Ah, there you are!” Leighton enthused as Jane and Victoria walked up to her. She hopped up from Jane’s bench, embracing the startled young woman. Jane patted Leighton on the back, and she released Jane.

“I’m so glad you were able to make it,” Leighton said. “Class will be starting soon, let’s go get changed.”

“I’m, uh, already changed,” Jane said. “I just need to put my phone in a locker.” She looked at Leighton, who wore a smart, well-fitting running suit with athletic shoes from a brand Jane didn’t recognize, but were probably hideously expensive. “How about you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Let’s go meet the instructors!" Leighton said, taking Jane by the hand and leading her around to the entrance.

A tall, beefy woman wearing an HCI uniform and a stern expression stopped them. “This is the introductory class for beginners,” she stated. “Have y’all filled out releases?”

After dealing with paperwork (Leighton signed for Victoria - she would be the only actual slave in the class) they entered the large open studio. Doors on the far wall, the narrow ends with mirrors (at least one of which was a two-way mirror - or is it a one-way window? Jane wasn’t sure, but the bench they just left was on the other side of it), wooden floor, lights ringing the walls up high, a few fans, and speakers playing some soft, lo-fi music; pretty much what Jane imagined a nice yoga studio looked like.

Very brightly lit, though. Hmm.

The only instructor was a fit, tanned woman with dark blonde hair who wore standard yoga pants and a sports bra underneath a loose sleeveless shirt. She seemed nice enough as she greeted the arriving students.

More women were entering the studio, alone and in pairs. Most wore clothing like the instructor’s, and ranged in age from barely eighteen to well into their fifties. Again, Jane thought, nothing special.

The low buzz of conversation suddenly ceased, and Jane turned to see one of the doors on the far wall opening. Out walked a man…

More like a god, Jane thought, as a flush started to rise up her face.

He was a tall, tanned man, ethnicity uncertain, with long curly black hair gathered into a pony tail, a clean-shaven face with half-closed eyelids, and a body…

Oh my God, Jane thought.

He wore shorts and a fitted t-shirt that did nothing to obscure his muscular thighs or his chiseled pectoral muscles. His arms looked strong, strong enough to carry a woman, well, anywhere he wanted her to go, and an intricate black-line tattoo sleeved his right arm from wrist to shoulder.

Jane swallowed, hard.

The man was leading a female slave on a leash: she was small, slim, Asian, completely nude, and could have had three heads for all Jane cared - she only noticed the woman in her peripheral vision as she stared at the man she really really hoped was their instructor.

“That’s Jules,” Leighton whispered, leaning close to Jane. “Wait until you hear him speak.”

“Good morning, ladies,” Jules began, standing in the front. “Welcome to Sunday morning instruction for novices. I am Jules Mercier, and along with Liddy-” he bowed to the tanned blonde woman, who probably returned a namaste bow, “-and Mieko-” the slave probably bowed too -“we will endeavor to teach you basics of yoga as practiced by slaves.”

His smooth voice was certainly pleasant on its own, but with his French accent it was… Mellifluous? Dulcet? Melodious? Panty-drenching?

“Please deposit your belongings in the locker room now,” he continued, “as we will begin precisely on the hour.”

A few women hustled through the rightmost door. Leighton held out her hand. “I’ll take your phone and sweatshirt,” she said.

“Are you not joining us?” Jane asked, unable to completely tear her attention away from Jules.

"Oh, no. I’ll just sit up there and watch you two,” Leighton said, pointing to an upper gallery that looked down through large windows onto the studio floor. “And I will hold your things.”

I’m really uncomfortable with this, Jane thought, better put my foot down now.

“No, thanks,” Jane said. “It’s no trouble, and the locker room is right over there. Besides,” she continued, changing the subject, “I really thought we were taking the class together?”

Leighton grimaced. “I woke up feeling a bit ill this morning. I’m not in the mood to do any bending right now.”

Time to assert yourself, Jane thought, so you don’t end up like Victoria.

“Come on,” Jane said, taking Leighton’s outstretched hand. “Don’t be like that. You look fine. You’ll be fine. It’ll be fun! And,” Jane smiled, “don’t you want the chance to get much closer to Jules? Maybe get some personal instruction?”

Leighton glanced back over at Jules, who was talking to Liddy while Mickey or Goofy or whatever her name was knelt beside him. Jane could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smirk cross Victoria’s face.

“Oh, alright,” Leighton huffed. “If it will make you happy. Let’s go quickly.”

The three women entered the large locker room, which was well-appointed and frankly nicer than any locker- or bathroom Jane had ever been inside in her life. It even smelled nice, sort of floral, but without being overwhelming as if it was trying to cover up something worse (like in every other locker room Jane had ever been inside).

Leighton picked a locker. “We have to be barefoot,” she said, and held up her right leg behind her like a horse being shoed. Victoria removed Leighton’s shoes and socks, then stowed them in the locker. Jane took off her Chucks and her hoodie, stashed them along with her phone and HCI keycard in a locker, set the combination on the keypad, and turned back to her companions.

Victoria, barefoot and wearing her collar, chastity thong and sports bra, finished folding Leighton’s running suit jacket. Leighton wore a color-coordinated yoga outfit underneath her suit: scarlet yoga pants accented with an Indian-style pattern and a form-fitting long-sleeved top that definitely showed off her trim figure and her medium-sized-but-perky breasts.

“Are you really wearing that?” Leighton asked, pointing at Jane’s top.

Jane looked down at the faded black band tee she wore, “Poison Scrunchy” still (mostly) legible on the front.

“What’s the problem?” Jane asked. “I didn’t want to wear anything nice because I’m going to get it all sweaty working out-”

Leighton interrupted, *tsk-tsk-*ing. “The point of a public slave yoga class is not to get in a good workout, though we will, but to be seen. What are you wearing underneath?”

“A bra that is not getting exposed to the public,” Jane replied.

“Here, let’s try this,” Leighton said, taking the front of Jane’s oversized shirt in her hands. She pulled it up underneath Jane’s breasts and tied a knot in the center, exposing Jane’s belly and lower back, then rolled up the sleeves to Jane’s shoulders; Jane wasn’t sure how she felt about this.

She turned Jane toward a mirror. “That’s a bit better,” she said. “At least it looks intentional." Leighton cocked her head. "Nothing we can do about the sweat pants, I’m afraid, but at least they fit, not too loose. We need to go shopping and get you some decent athletic outfits, Jane. You’re too pretty to go around looking like a street urchin. Now let’s go.”

Jane had estimated that the class composed about twenty women, and once they were all lined up there were five rows of four women each. Some were older white suburban moms (as Jane expected) and a number of young-to-middle-aged Hispanic ladies were present as well, but no black or Asian women - she’d have to ask Leighton about that later - and no men at all.

“The purposes of slave yoga,” Jules was saying, “are several. It allows a slave to maintain physical fitness without requiring her owner to provide special equipment or facilities. It improves the slave’s flexibility and suppleness, which makes her more valuable to her owner. By becoming more in touch with her body she becomes more sexually desirable.” Jane could hear a few sharp breath intakes from the women around her. “And by focusing her attention on submission, it reminds her of her duty to her master. So we will repeat sayings as part of the exercises, sayings which are called mantras.” Jules looked around and smiled. “Everyone is expected to participate in every portion of the class. If you find that you cannot, I will ask you to leave immediately.”

Jane glanced at Leighton, to her right, and Victoria, to her left. This is going to be weird, she thought.

The Asian slave pulled a large carpeted box to the front of the class and climbed on top of it. She stood up, clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head, waiting, while Jules watched Liddy make her way to the far left side of the class.

“Position one, Mieko,” Jules said, then to the class: “Every session of slavery yoga begins with a prostration, to remind you that you that everything you do is done for the benefit of your master.” Mieko went to her knees, placed her hands on the carpet in front of her, and slid them forward until she was in a sort of bowing position, her knees tucked underneath her, face pointing down, arms outstretched in front of her. The bright light glinted off the chrome of her collar.

Jane tried to imitate Mieko, and sort of succeeded though she couldn’t get her stiff hips down very far. This seemed a lot easier with no clothes on, she thought, thinking of her reflection in the apartment mirror.

She looked at Leighton, who was much closer to the floor than Jane, and then at Victoria, who was (unsurprisingly) all the way down in what looked like a perfect copy of Mieko. Looking at the red-haired middle-aged mom in front of her, Jane could see what she herself probably looked like: back arched like a stretching cat, with her ass sticking up in the air.

Gentle but firm pressure on her bare lower back pushed her a bit lower. “Good form, you just need to focus on loosening up,” Liddy said.

Jane grunted, hiding her disappointment that it wasn’t Jules.

“Repeat after me,” Jules said, still at the front of the class. “Good morning, master.”

Good morning, master, twenty feminine voices repeated. Surprisingly enthusiastic, Jane thought.

“Position Two,” Jules said, “is sometimes called the table pose but in slave yoga it is called the footstool.” Mieko rose up onto all fours. “Notice, ladies, that her back is straight and her head is up, looking straight forward. Of course, this position is sometimes required by your master to hold items or simply to rest his weary feet, and sometimes for other more gratifying purposes-” a ripple of laughs ran through the class, “- so you must not disappoint him.”

Jules observed the class for a moment. “Now repeat after me: my duty is to my master.”

Jane said the line out loud, blushing a little.

“Now stretch out your right arm straight ahead of you, and your left leg straight back,” Jules continued. “This improves your core strength and your balance. Hold them as straight as you can and repeat after me: I belong to my master.”

Jane heard Victoria repeat the mantra, but substituting mistress for master. Hearing a sharp slap, she glanced to her left. A red hand print was visible on Victoria’s bare butt cheek, and she heard Liddy say quietly, “Repeat exactly what you are told, slut.”

Huh, Jane thought.

“Now release your arm and leg, and raise their opposites, your left arm and your right leg, and repeat: my body belongs to my master.”

Jane saw Jules place his hands on the thigh of one of the housewives toward the front of the class, adjusting her leg so that it was straight. His hand moved into a few places that were not strictly necessary to correct the woman’s pose; goosebumps appeared on the woman’s bare calves.

“Position three, Mieko,” Jules said. “Release again, ladies, and push yourselves up to a kneeling position with your lovely derrieres resting on your heels.” The class tittered briefly. “Now raise your arms above your head as far and as straight as they will go, tilt your head slightly forward, and cross your wrists. This is the up hands pose, and is used when placing manacles on the wrists so that the slave will have use of her hands being in front of her. Spines straight, sil vous plait.”

Nineteen women each did their own version of the pose - Jane assumed Victoria’s was correct, of course - causing Jules and Libby to visit and correct nearly everyone.

This is such an easy pose, Jane thought. I wonder how many of the "errors" are deliberate.

“Very good, my dear,” Jules said to Leighton. “Tilt your head forward a bit more, you want your arms as close together as possible, voyez-vous?” He placed a hand on the top of Leighton’s head and tilted it, while placing the other on her back. “Straighten here just a bit more,” he said, and slid his hand down her back to her tailbone; Leighton straightened up, but also closed her eyes and opened her mouth a little.

“Thank you for correcting me, sir,” she said.

Jane glanced to her left: Liddy was looking over Victoria carefully, trying to spot a flaw she could correct. Seeing none, she shrugged and moved on. Jane saw the ghost of a smile cross the slave’s face.

Hands ran down Jane’s bare lower back, stopping at the top of her hips, and pressed down. An accented voice murmured in her ear, “As close to your heels as possible.” Jane managed to drop her hips a little more. “Très bien,” Jules said, his thumbs lingering on the dimples on her lower back, before he patted her on her butt and moved on to the next student.

Oh my God, Jane thought. I’m feeling warm already and we’ve barely started.

Next came the “surrender pose” (kneeling, forehead touching the floor, wrists crossed behind the back), where both Leighton and Jane received a congratulatory pat on the ass, Jules’ hand lingering a bit on the curve at the bottom of Leighton’s cheek.

“Please use me master, my body and my soul belong to you,” we all repeated.

The semi-lapsed Catholic in Jane was not thrilled with that mantra, but when in Rome… er, so to speak.

The class continued through various other cuffing poses, then moved on to more overtly sexual ones like the one that’s kind of like “cobra pose” where your legs are straight out behind you, then you raise your upper body on your arms, after which you open your mouth wide and hold out your tongue while looking upward at your imagined owner, awaiting orders or something else.

That pose was a turning point for two reasons: first, the knot securing Jane’s t-shirt was loosening and that was when it chose to come completely undone, and second because it was after that pose that the class flipped over on their backs.

Balancing on their shoulders, the women placed their hands underneath their bottoms and raised their hips. A common-enough yoga pose, except that they had to spread their legs open as wide as possible. Indeed, Jules came through and placed his hands on the inside of every woman’s thighs, “adjusting” them so they were “correct.”

Leighton continued to thank him, calling him “Sir.” Then he turned to Jane.

“Your shirt has, ah, how do you say, ridden up?” Jules said. “Displaying the bottoms of your lovely bosoms, and they are lovely, my dear. You should consider our regular class, where we encourage nudity, and even require it, I think it would suit you. Now spread your legs a bit more,” he said, pushing on the inside of her thighs while looking at her bare midriff and the undersides of her boobs. She could feel that familiar tingling below her navel, and her skin flushed.

Jules grabbed the elastic waist of her yoga pants. “Why wait?” he said, and pulled them down and off of her legs in one smooth motion. Before Jane could object he pulled up the hem of her t-shirt, fully exposing her breasts and her hardening nipples. “Si beau,” he murmured, grabbing her naked legs with his strong, experienced hands and throwing them over his shoulders. He placed his hands underneath her bottom and lifted her hips until her carefully trimmed pussy was level with his face.

“No,” she objected, “I’m all sweaty–”

“Shhh, mon cher,” Jules hushed, turning his head and kissing his way down her left inner thigh. Jane gasped, her skin erupting in goosebumps, and she pressed her hands down, raising her pale, needy cleft closer to his tanned face. Kissing her right inner thigh, he brushed his lips against her engorged–

“Jane! JANE!” Leighton hissed.

The class was already on to the next pose, flat on their backs and holding their legs upward with hands behind their thighs. Jane quickly emulated Leighton, then dropped her head down to the floor and stared at the ceiling before movement caught her eye.

In the gallery up above, the class had attracted an audience. Not surprising, Jane supposed. Unlike the ground-floor windows which were mirrored, the upper gallery windows were not so she could see the crowd milling around, trying different vantage points. All male, many of them clearly husbands or boyfriends, but one wearing a tweed jacket looked famil…

Greyson. It was Greyson Lombardi, the brother of the missing girl Cori Lombardi.

He stood off to one side, hands in his khaki pant pockets, watching her. His face bore a look of concentration until he realized she had spotted him. He visibly relaxed, smiled at her, then turned and walked away.

“Master, I will do anything to please you,” all the women repeated, all but one.

----------------

Jane could see the flush built up on Leighton’s face, and who could blame her? An incredibly handsome and desirable man, the only one in a class full of women learning how to exercise like sex slaves, most of whom would throw themselves at him given even a tiny chance (while the wet spots on many of the student’s pants could be attributed to “sweat,” the atmosphere was erotically charged and Jane was frankly surprised that two of the Hispanic ladies at the front of the class were still clothed at the end of it), that man had complimented and “corrected” Leighton more than anyone else through the entire session. Some of the women tried calling Jules “sir” as Leighton had, but he still spent the lion’s share of his instructing time with her.

Most of the class had left, collecting their shoes and their men and their last looks at Jules before filtering out, until only Jules, Mieko, Leighton, Victoria and Jane were left.

Jules had invited them to the “advanced” class, for which they were now eligible, and had described it in some detail, though Leighton continued to find questions to ask him. Jane wasn’t sure if she was quite ready, though it was certainly enticing: the class started off simple enough, but eventually graduated to things beyond just slave yoga like deportment and submissive behavior, and eventually nudity was required, as well as wearing deactivated “training” collars.

Mieko prostrated herself before Jules. “Master, may this slave be given leave to clean itself?”

“Certainement,” Jules said without looking at her, busy as he was basking in Leighton’s attention.

“Hey, I gotta go too,” Jane said. “Thanks Jules, this was great. Leighton, I’ll call you later.”

Jules smiled at Jane and nodded, carried along by the current of Leighton’s enthusiastic chatter.

Mieko rose, bowed at Jules, and walked into the locker room. Jane followed her.

Jane opened her locker, sat down on the bench and began checking her phone’s various message apps, reflecting on the class.

That was not what I expected at all, Jane thought. I thought it would either be barely-disguised slave training, or some kind of touristy fun-and-games nonsense. Instead, I find myself really, really worked up sexually, while managing to keep my dignity. Baby steps? I think doing it with friends helped a lot, too - I could see what they were going through so it wasn’t weird. I can’t believe I’m actually considering taking the “advanced” class. What would it be like to do all that stuff naked? And wearing a collar? Spreading my legs at the gallery so Greyson could get a good look at what he’s buying–

“She likes you, you know,” said a voice in Jane’s ear.

“Shit!” Jane jumped up, startled, turning around to see Victoria standing in front of her.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Jane said, “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Victoria said, sitting down on the bench opposite Jane. She patted the bench, inviting Jane to sit back down.

“I just wanted you to know,” Victoria continued. “Ever since you two met, she’s talked about you, wanting to get to know you and spend time together. I know she’s a little much at first, and she sometimes behaves strangely, but she’d really like to be friends.”

Jane stared at Victoria in wide-eyed disbelief. “What?” was all she could manage.

Victoria sighed. “Leighton is terribly lonely. She never developed any ‘people’ skills, she’s had to work very hard to acquire the few she has. You’re only the second person she’s expressed any interest in spending time with, and the first person I’ve seen that she’s actually making an effort with. You being here gave her the courage to talk to Jules.”

“How in the world do you not develop–,” Jane started.

“Only child to older, distant parents, private tutors and boarding schools from a young age, acute shyness, and perhaps just a touch of autism,” Victoria said.

“Wait, why are you telling me this? What do you care? Doesn’t she treat you like a dog?”

Victoria laughed. “Only in public, only for a reason, and I’m fine with it.”

Jane sat, stunned. “Maybe you’d better explain that.”

“What Lee - I call her Lee - told you about me was mostly true. We worked together, and we were roommates in college. She actually is very gifted when it comes to trading money and slaves, so I worked as her junior partner to learn the business. I made a bad trade on my own, and by the time I worked up the nerve to tell her about it the bank’s lawyers had placed a lien on me. She offered to pay it off but I wouldn’t let her, it was much cheaper to just buy my slave contract.”

“I see you looking at me like I’m insane,” Victoria continued, “But it was my mistake and I didn’t want to burden my friend and partner with it. I gave her most of the money to buy me, and she pulled strings to make sure she won my auction. We still work together, when we’re in public I pretend to be her silent, submissive, broken-spirited slave. It’s worked out pretty well for us.”

Jane’s skeptical expression didn’t change. “How do you figure?”

“Slave buyers tend to ignore slaves,” Victoria shrugged. “They’re around so many day-in and day-out, that they just disappear into the background. So I can sit in the buyer’s lounge when Lee’s not there, or in the buyer’s outer offices with their secretaries when Lee’s in a meeting with them, or among their junior partners at lunch or at drinks after work, and listen to everything they say.”

“Didn’t she send you to obedience school and all that stuff?” Jane asked. “And what about the sex thing, and that belt?” Jane gestured at the chastity belt around Victoria’s waist.

“Obedience school was required in my sale contract. Lee made sure to send me to the nicest, gentlest one she could find - more like a yoga spa than an obedience school, to be honest - and the rest of that is made up for our cover story. Lee is neither lesbian nor bisexual, and we’re friends, that’s all. The belt is my idea, for my protection so I don’t get raped when she’s not around to stop it. Although I don’t mind giving blowjobs, especially if the recipients tend to be talkative afterwards.”

Jane just stared at Victoria. “Damn. Well, you two had me fooled completely.”

“Do me a favor and don’t let on that you know,” Victoria said. “Let Lee tell you in her own time. I’m telling you because you seem to be a very nice, trustworthy person and I want you to understand Lee better. Don’t be put off by our little act.”

“Hm,” Jane said. “Okay. I like Leighton and I think we could be friends. I won’t hold anything with you against her.”

“Thanks,” Victoria said, patting Jane on the knee, “Just give her a chance.” She leaned in and kissed Jane on the cheek.

“Ahem,” came another voice from the end of the locker row. Jane turned and saw Mieko and Liddy, the other yoga instructor. Mieko was still nude and collared, while Liddy was wrapped in a towel, one hand on Mieko’s shoulder.

“Are you coming?” Liddy asked.

“Not yet,” Victoria said. She stood, pulled off her athletic bra, and pressed her thumb into the front of her chastity belt. A brief flash of light, and a moment later it popped open allowing Victoria to step out of it, now completely nude except for her collar.

“But I hope to be soon,” Victoria said, walking over to the two women. She gave Mieko a tender kiss on the lips, then gave Liddy a much more aggressive one, and they each placed a hand on Victoria’s bottom.

Jane stared at the three women, mouth hanging open.

“I said Lee’s straight, I never said I was,” Victoria said, winking at Jane.

Liddy looked Jane over. “Want to watch?” she asked. “There’s room in the showers for one more.”

“Oh, um, ah, no,” Jane stammered, her face beet red. “Thanks though!”

“Another time then,” Liddy said, dropping her towel on the bench; Jane could see her dark nipples and the brownish curls of her pubic hair. The three women quickly turned, giggling, and ran to the shower area, bare feet slapping on the tile floor.

Jane touched a hand to the cheek Victoria had kissed.

She asked aloud to the empty locker room: “Is ANYONE in this stupid town who they appear to be?”

[Carl Bradford]

An excellent take on the now-traditional device of slave yoga/block training. As always, repeating submissive mantras and obeying instructions to pose helplessly subtly influences the students, but the addition of the instructor fondling them while gently pushing them into position is a very intimate way to impose dominance while apparently being open and above board.
I can no longer follow all the sub-plots in this tale/tail, but overall it's a great re-imagining of the slave world. Thanks!

[audiq9]

Thanks Carl! All the subplots are a bit much, I admit, but they're about to start converging and resolving so hang in there!

[Belinda]

The addition of the slave yoga training is such an inspired addition to this wonderful story. Just marvelous Sir.

[Mr. Smith]

Those women were swooning with a Fabio look alike as their instructor. I just loved the fantasy sequence where Jane lost her pants. That was a fantasy, right? I confess, seeing a PG-13 version of slave yoga was a change of pace from the "Master, shove your monster ..... ," that we have become accustomed too. Jane's getting a real education in slavery and I still have no idea where this is going.

[Carl Bradford]

You all are too kind, but I appreciate it more than you know