“Yes, Mr. Cain.”

She began to move, somewhat awkwardly. She was clearly okay in heels generally, but these were towering fuck-me heels and she wasn’t just walking, instead she was doing yoga poses. Difficult ones. Each time she actually started to fall, I instantly supported her. But she found her balance surprisingly quickly, which I sort of regretted, as it gave me fewer excuses to touch her, to grope her.

As she stood there on one leg, her other risen and her hands above her head, she gave me a blinding smile, “I did it, Mr. Cain!”

“Good girl,” she shuddered and almost lost her balance, but recovered, despite a needy glance at me and my cock.

I walked behind her, “Now, let’s increase the difficulty.”

“Yes, Mr. Cain.”

“You can cum.”

Her hands instantly flew towards her crotch, only for me to catch them. “Ah, ah, ah, girl, I told you to exercise.”

“But, but, you said--”

“I said you could cum, not that you could stop exercising.”

“Yes, Mr. Cain,” her voice was angry, bitter.

Then my hands skimmed over her hips, over her mound, she jumped like I’d shocked her and would have fallen if I hadn’t supported her again.

“Focus, girl. You have a routine.”

“Y-y-yes, Mr. Cain,” she said and tried to resume.

I kept playing with her, teasing her nipples, her clit, even sliding aside her panties and letting her own juices run down her legs as I shoved a few fingers into her. She did her best to keep going, moving into each pose, but she repeatedly lost her balance and after a few minutes, had clearly lost track of where she was in her routine, returning to earlier poses and staying in those which gave me the easiest access for far longer than she did any of the ones which limited my access.

“Mr--Mr--Mr--I’m getting close--please, can I cum?” she whispered, teeth gritted, as we approached the end of the half-hour.

“Silly girl.” She whimpered, expecting to be denied, “I told you you could cum, I didn’t place any limits on it. You could have been cumming whenever you wanted.”

There was a moment of silence, agony, frustration and anger, then it all gushed out of her, down her legs, over my hands, onto the floor and she would have collapsed if I hadn’t caught her. Which put my cock hotdogging her tight ass.

I held her as she recovered. Her eyes opened and met mine, and again, she kissed me gently. Her eyes weren’t entirely focused, but she managed to stand and tried to take a step towards the treadmill.

“Stop!” I ordered.

She froze.

“Yes, Mr. Cain?”

“You aren’t ready to run in those heels on a treadmill. That is dangerous. You’ll have to build up to that.”

“Should I take them off, then, Mr. Cain?”

“Yes, you can put on running shoes for this, while I get some exercise of my own.”

That was a pleasant time, as we just exercised. Her obvious admiration of my form and movement made everything even nicer. Half an hour later, she finished. I ordered her to put the heels back on and do squats as I worked out behind her, to finish my own routine, while providing support in case she lost balance.

She kept scooting back, grinding that ass against me as she squatted, or worked another exercise I gave her, asking questions about her form, and about the reason for these exercises in particular. I answered those, her form was pretty good, but I corrected it a few times.

The specific exercises I chose were ass focused, and I didn’t hide that. “Your ass is magnificent, I want it maintained in perfect condition to get me hard, for me grope and for me to spank.”

She thanked me and promised to do the exercises every day. I doubted she actually meant it, but it was a nice touch. When we were done, I rose, stretched and ordered her to bend over the workout bench.

She eagerly obeyed, expecting a fucking. But then I spoke calmly, “You failed to finish your yoga routine. You tried, which is good, but failed, which is bad. Five spanks.”

Her eyes closed, which I could see in the mirror on the wall. “Yes, Mr. Cain.”

I brought my hand down sharply.

I’d only truly punished her once, but she remembered. “One. Thank you, Mr. Cain.” SPANK! “Two. Thank you, Mr. Cain.” SPANK! “Three. Thank you, Mr. Cain.” SPANK! “Four. Thank you, Mr. Cain.” SPANK! “Five. Thank you, Mr. Cain.”

“You are welcome. Now, I’m hungry and I need to review your essay. Get those ready for me, while I inspect the house and see how good a job you did of cleaning it.”

“Yes, Mr. Cain,” she hopped up, then winced as she ran out, heading for her computer, where she’d order our breakfast.

AN: Oops, hit publish, not save, this one goes up early, so no chapter tomorrow. Brief reminder, this section will be skippable in the long run, for those for whom it is not their cup of tea, or too much focus on 'side-plot.' As a general matter, I will say that this story will generally be divided between Arkham plot and external plot, but less in an A Plot and B Plot manner and more in an older style of a 'Season Plot' being threaded through ongoing episodic sex-adventures. Or at least that's what I'm going for.