Swing It Out!

Damsel pointed to the option that at least made it seem like she’d get to hit something, hopefully the bubbly attendant who seemed annoyingly over the moon at her selection. Trixie clapped her hands before flipping through a clipboard.

“Super duper choice, as always,” Trixie said, winking for some reason. She landed on the page she was apparently after and flipped it around to show Damsel. There were a dozen or silhouettes in different positions on the laminated page, arrows here and there to direct motion. Yoga, she realized. “We’re going to work a bit on your balance, dexterity, and core. While having fun doing it!”

Damsel doubted that. But, although she’s never admit it to a pudgy simpleton like Trixie, at least this would let her get some stretches in before going out on a stakeout tonight. All while earning some cash.

“Fine,” she decided. Trixie gave an excited squeal and wrapped Damsel into a bear hug.

“I think that’s the nicest darn thing you’ve ever said to me!” Trixie exclaimed. The bigger woman had hugged her in such a way that Damsel’s arms were pinned. The paper gown she’d been **** to wear crunched between them and she could suddenly feel a draft on her backside. Her chest had to deal with the full brunt of Trixie’s and it was clear that was a duel she was never going to win.

“If you don’t get off of me in the next three seconds I will reduce you to a pile of confetti,” Damsel seethed.

Trixie gave another tight squeeze and then let go, laughing. “There’s the usual sourpuss I know and love. Now, how about we get you allllll stretched out, snookums. I’ve heard yoga will help with a case of the grumpies too!”

Damsel almost hated that infantalizing tone and diction more than the unwanted physical contact. Almost. She fixed her gown, careful not to tear right through it with her fingers. It was ridiculous that she had to wear this. She wasn’t sick or hurt. She wasn’t a patient here. Still, they mandated she wear this for their record keeping, supposedly not wanting any outside things getting in the way of their work. Damsel wasn’t sure how going commando helped them.

“Let’s try this one first, honey bee, it seems right up your alley,” Trixie said, pointing at the page.

“The warrior pose?”

“Yeppers!”

“That is far too barbaric to describe me.”

“You’re always throwing around them there jokes about killing me.”

“Those aren’t jokes.”

Trixie laughed anyway, the noise equal parts grating and genuine. “See! You’re all grrrr die die die, the warrior pose can be your new fighting stance. Let’s try it out.”

She’d learned quickly after prior sessions with this imbecile that it was best to just not argue. Stupidity was proven to be infectious, if her worse half and gaggle of heroic idiots had demonstrated. Trixie handed her the sheet and fluttered this way and that. For a woman so…bombastic, she certainly moved with a speed and purpose that even Damsel could find somewhat praiseworthy. If she wasn’t so moronic, she’d make a suitable minion.

Slow music played from Trixie’s shitty phone speaker, a pink mat with florals was laid out on the tiling, and a water bottle was yanked out of the mini fridge. Damsel rolled her eyes. As of yoga would ever be hard enough to warrant a sweat. With some apprehension, stepped on the admittedly more comfortable mat with her bare feet.

“Okey dokey, artichokey, what you’re gonna do is-”

“I know it. You gave the sheet.”

“Alrighty, let’s see that warrior pose, hiyaaahhh,” Trixie said, doing a few martial arts motions before striking the pose herself.

Damsel did it better, stretching her back leg and putting more weight on her front. The added weight in her fingers was a bitch to keep her arms straight, but she managed.

“Great! Now give me your best warrior war cry!” Trixie said, marking a few things in her notepad

“Absolutely not.”

“Not even a little roar? For me?”

“I’d sooner die.”

“How’s your knee?”

Damsel wobbled a little, she was expecting another stupid reply not for her to actually be doing her job in any capacity. “It’s fine.”

Trixie got closer, squatting down to investigate Damsel’s knee. It was nice to look down at her for once, although all Damsel really saw was her purple hair and breasts, the latter of which were heavily pushed up by her gut while scrunched down. Damsel looked away.

“I told you it’s fine.”

“Well, we want you feeling better than just fine, grumpypants!” Trixie said, looking up at Damsel with a smile. Yes, good minion, Damsel thought. A cold hand against her skin made Damsel flinch a little, then shiver.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Feeling for tension, no need to be a jumping jellybean.” Trixie’s hand probed around Damsel’s knee while she maintained the pose. It was admittedly hard keeping all of her weight on the one leg, but not hard enough to stop her. “You may have chicken legs but they sure are strong!”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll use those legs to break you like a- EEP!” Damsel squeaked as Trixie moved her hand from knee to thigh, climbing.

“Sorry for cutting you off, dear, I just have to check your hamstrings.” Trixie’s hand went higher, moving under the gown

“No, that’s enough, you’ll unhand me this instant!”

But Trixie didn’t, moving those cold hands around the slender leg until Damsel could swear they could get no higher without being indecent. “Just a little more, I’d tell you not to get your panties in a bunch, but I sure am remembering you’re not wearing any.”

Damsel stood straight up at that, face blood red in both rage and embarrassment. Trixie’s hands were trapped between Damsel’s legs for a second, just inches below her slit. Trixie yanked them out.

“Different pose,” Damsel shouted. “Now!”