Excerpt 2: Garden Yoga and a "tainted" Afternoon

Sunlight filters through the glass roof of the spacious rooftop terrace of the duplex, turning into soft golden lines that spill onto the courtyard area with its Burmese teak flooring. The air is filled with the fresh scent of plants and the faint background noise of the city in the distance, but these are all masked by the excellent sound insulation and the ethereal yoga meditation music flowing from the surround sound system.

It was already the tenth day since their life exchange began. "Chen Mo"—or rather, the being currently controlling "Su Wanqing's" body—had begun to adapt to its daily rhythms and certain habitual needs. He found himself starting to "miss" those regular exercises that could stretch his flexible body, such as yoga. This feeling didn't entirely stem from fragments of Su Wanqing's memories; rather, it was a kind of "craving" that this body would spontaneously generate at specific times and in specific environments, like hunger or drowsiness—a biological clock and conditioned reflex deeply rooted in the muscles and nervous system.

So this afternoon, after confirming that the housekeeper who regularly came to the house had left and that no one would disturb them for a while, he (or she) decided to give in to this desire and, incidentally... make good use of this luxurious and private open-air space.

There was a dedicated area in the dressing room for workout clothes. He picked out a light gray yoga outfit from Lululemon's latest collection. The top was a short, fitted tank top made of highly stretchy fabric that clung tightly to his ample chest, perfectly outlining his deep cleavage and slender waist. The hemline stopped just below his ribs, revealing a smooth, flat stomach and defined abs. The bottom was a matching high-waisted yoga pant, equally form-fitting, wrapping from his waist to his ankles like a second skin, faithfully depicting every curve of his straight, long, beautiful legs. Especially alluring were his pert, full peach-shaped buttocks, whose rounded curves and deep indentation were particularly tempting under the tight yoga pant.

But that's not enough.

His gaze fell upon the various stockings neatly arranged in the drawer beside him. Almost without hesitation, he pulled out a pair of top-quality seamless stockings that were extremely light in skin tone, almost transparent, but with an exquisitely delicate pearlescent sheen. This was a style that Su Wanqing would occasionally wear with tight-fitting clothing when she needed to achieve the ultimate aesthetic but didn't want to expose any flaws in her leg skin; its price was comparable to a luxury brand ready-to-wear garment.

Sitting on the carpet, he skillfully rolled up the stockings, slipped them over his toes, and slowly pulled them upwards, just as he had done before. The cool, slippery touch instantly enveloped his legs, creating a strange, double-wrapped sense of security and sensual stimulation, combined with the compression of the yoga pants. The stockings were extremely thin and sheer, almost invisible underneath the yoga pants, only giving his skin a delicate, soft pearly sheen in the light. And… when the yoga pants tightened around his legs, the stockings underneath created an imperceptible, continuous, subtle friction.

After getting dressed, he walked to the floor-to-ceiling mirror wall in the courtyard. The woman in the mirror had a perfect figure. The light gray yoga outfit accentuated every advantage of her body: full, almost bursting breasts, a slender yet powerful waist, rounded and perky buttocks, and those legs—extended by the yoga pants and inner stockings, they appeared even straighter and longer, with lines as smooth as a sculpture. Sunlight shone on them, making her skin (or rather, the skin under the stockings) seem to have its own soft glow, and her whole being exuded an aura of health, strength, and an ultimate sensuality.

He adjusted his breathing in front of the mirror, and several sequences that Su Wanqing often used when practicing yoga naturally came to mind. Accompanied by soothing music, he began to imitate the scenes in his memory, assuming the first pose—Mountain Pose.

Feet together, spine extended upwards, shoulders relaxed. A simple movement, yet it immediately puts the body into a focused and relaxed state. He can feel the stretch in his back muscles and the opening of his chest.

Next is Downward-Facing Dog. Place your hands on the ground and lift your hips up, forming an inverted V shape. This pose draws blood to the head and presents the body's curves from a different angle. The yoga pants tightly hug the hips, fully exposing their upward shape. Due to the forward folding motion, the crotch area is stretched extremely, sinking tightly into the gap between the legs. The presence of the stockings underneath becomes exceptionally clear at this moment—the strong constriction of the yoga pants at the crotch area makes the outline of the already thinly covered private parts even more distinct and prominent. Even the interaction between the subtle texture of the stocking crotch fabric and the smooth fabric of the yoga pants creates a continuous and subtle, almost gentle massage-like friction, directly against the most sensitive core area.

He paused for a few seconds, his breath catching in his throat, before shifting into Warrior I pose. One leg stepped forward, bent, while the other extended straight back, arms outstretched. This powerful pose showcased the definition of his leg muscles and his balance. However, the forward bend of his leg stretched the yoga pants tighter around his hips and thighs, making the contours of his full, "bun-like" genitals even more pronounced and prominent. The light gray, form-fitting fabric clearly outlined the closed slit of his two full labia, even subtly revealing the slightly protruding clitoris. The stockings underneath softened the contours, yet their pearlescent sheen accentuated the fullness of the area under the light.

A familiar, subtle tingling sensation began to arise from the core area that had been doubly bound and constantly rubbed, slowly but steadily spreading along the nerve endings. This feeling strangely blended with the physical and mental relaxation brought on by earnest yoga practice, creating a contradictory, tantalizing stimulation.

He tried to focus on the precision of his breathing and posture, following the guidance of his memory to string together the Sun Salutations. Each flowing posture, whether it was a forward bend, a plank, an upward-facing dog, or a downward-facing dog again, allowed the body to stretch fully, and also subjected the areas that were heavily "focused" on by the yoga pants and stockings to pressure and friction from different angles and degrees. The body warmed up during the exercise, and he sweated slightly. The yoga pants became even more form-fitting, and the friction between them and the stockings seemed to become even more acute.

When he achieved a "pigeon pose" that required a deep hip opening, the stimulation reached a small climax. His right leg was bent forward, the shin horizontal, his left leg extended backward, and his body folded forward. This pose opened the hips to a great extent, stretching the crotch fabric of his yoga pants to its limit, deeply and tightly digging into the softest crevice between his legs. The full "bun" shape was completely deformed by the compression, the fabric sinking into the labia, creating an intense, almost invasive feeling of filling and friction. The stockings underneath seemed slightly damp with a little secretion, creating a slippery, sticky, and continuously stimulating sensation under such **** pressure and friction.

"Ah..." A soft, trembling breath escaped his lips uncontrollably. Something inside his body seemed to be completely triggered by this posture and the combined stimulation. The peace and focus he had gained from yoga began to shift irreversibly.

He remained in pigeon pose, but his breathing gradually became erratic. Closing his eyes, what surfaced in his mind was no longer the essence of yoga or the next pose, but rather... the image of this body in the mirror, in the sunlight, presenting an extremely alluring picture; the clearly defined, shaped private parts beneath the yoga pants; the subtle or overt gazes of the opposite sex around him in the gym when his alluring curves were outlined by tight-fitting workout pants... Those gazes, now seemingly piercing through his memories, focused on him, igniting an even more intense flame along with that hidden sensation of friction.

Forget yoga and mind-body unity. To hell with it.

Following a more primal and intense impulse, he slowly withdrew from the pigeon pose, but instead of standing up, he naturally sat back on his heels, assuming a kneeling position. Then, in the sunlight, on the open terrace, facing the huge mirrored wall, he slowly and deliberately placed his hands on either side of his body to support himself.

His gaze, burning through the mirrored wall, was fixed on the woman in the mirror, dressed in a sexy yoga outfit, striking a seductive pose. His eyes were no longer mimicking Su Wanqing's calm or languid demeanor, but were filled with a naked, masculine scrutiny, desire, and possessiveness.

One hand rose, not to correct its posture, but slowly, with a certain ritualistic air, caressing the high, firm breasts beneath her tight vest. Fingers spread, gripping the soft mound tightly, feeling its astonishing elasticity and weight. Through the thin fabric of the sportswear, her fingertips precisely located the already erect nipple, maliciously kneading and pulling it. The neckline of the vest was distorted, revealing even more of her snow-white flesh.

His other hand went even further, covering his lower abdomen, the area sculpted by his yoga pants. He pressed and rubbed it firmly, his palm completely covering the area. He could clearly feel the soft, raised contours beneath his palm, and the already damp, sticky heat beneath the fabric. His fingertips found the deep crevice where the pants had been tightly bound, and began to slide up and down along it, applying pressure.

"Mmm..." The broken moans were louder than before, echoing across the empty terrace. He no longer restrained himself, letting the waves of desire engulf him. His body began to twist slightly, his waist swaying gently, responding to the pressure of his own hands. The smooth fabric of his yoga pants rubbed rapidly against his stockings, producing an extremely subtle yet alluring sound.

That's not enough. Far from enough.

He slightly parted his kneeling legs, easing the pressure on the tightly bound area, but making its outline more prominent. Then, the hand that had been causing trouble in his private parts switched to his fingers, pressing and thrusting forcefully and rapidly at the magical G-spot he remembered, through the two thin, already soaked layers of fabric.

"Ah! There... there!" The beauty in the mirror tilted her head back, her neck stretching out a graceful line, her face flushed with passion, her eyes unfocused and glazed. The tranquility of yoga was utterly shattered, replaced by a wild, profane indulgence.

He recalled Su Wanqing's memories of occasionally engaging in "self-relaxation" in such private spaces. But those times were usually elegant and restrained, perhaps with scented candles and more suggestive music. It was never like him now, bathed in sunlight, on a yoga mat meant for purifying the mind and body, wearing sportswear symbolizing health and self-discipline, yet engaging in the most lewd and dissolute acts.

This is a **defilement**. Not only of this body, but also a complete defilement of the refined, restrained, and superior life represented by the identity of "Su Wanqing." It's treating this meticulously maintained body, a symbol of ultimate feminine charm, with the most masculine, blunt, and crude desires.

This realization excited him even more. His actions became increasingly intense, no longer satisfied with merely scratching the surface.

He abruptly pulled down the waistband of his yoga pants, along with the stockings underneath, until his completely muddy, swollen, and wet private parts were fully exposed to the cool air and scorching sunlight. The pink opening parted slightly, and glistening love fluid flowed out, dripping down his perineum onto the yoga mat. His shy anus contracted slightly from the previous movements and excitement.

His fingers plunged directly into the wet, tight passage without any resistance, thrusting and digging wildly. His other hand kneaded her breasts even more roughly, pushing up her vest to expose her snow-white, full breasts, which trembled in the air, their cherry-red tips hard as rocks.

“Look… Su Wanqing…” He looked at himself in the mirror, or rather, at the ghost of the real Su Wanqing that might be omnipresent, and breathed heavily, whispering in a hoarse, seductive voice, “Your yoga… feels so good… so much better than me watching porn and masturbating in the security booth!”

He deliberately used the most vulgar language to create a stark contrast with the breathtaking scenery. His body undulated violently with the intrusion of his fingers, his buttocks swaying in lewd waves.

“Your body… was born to be played with like this by men… no, by ‘me’!” He increased the speed and **** of his finger thrusts, searching for the spot that could bring devastating pleasure.

When his fingertips ground hard against his G-spot again, an intense surge of pleasure, stronger than any he had experienced in the courtyard before, swept over him like a tsunami. His body tensed violently, his internal organs spasming intensely. Large amounts of vaginal fluid, mixed with other liquids, gushed out in a jet, tracing several glistening arcs as they splashed onto the bottom of the mirror wall, the yoga mat, and even his own legs and bare abdomen.

"Ahhhhhh—!" The scream shattered the afternoon tranquility, creating a bizarre and lewd duet with the ethereal background music.

He lay limp on the soaked yoga mat, panting heavily, drenched in sweat, his yoga clothes disheveled, and the area beneath him a mess. The sunlight was still warm, shining on his flushed face, which was dazed yet carried a sense of sacrilegious satisfaction. The courtyard remained luxurious and tidy, but the air was filled with a strong, sweet, and slightly fishy smell, unique to the aftermath of passion.

A ritual of "defilement" masquerading as yoga reached its blasphemous climax under the sunlight. And all of this, perhaps, was recorded behind a hidden lens, becoming yet another vivid "observation report" of this distorted exchange. Defilement brings not only **** physical pleasure, but also a complete trampling and blurring of the boundaries of one's original identity.