Compromising Positions

Ryan Keely and Daisy Fuentes hit the curb outside Penny Barber's place. They expect their usual lounge-and-wine visit, but Penny throws the door wide in a skin-tight sports bra and those sheer black yoga pants that show everything. She beams, legs already locked in Warrior II. "This time it's real," she swears. "A yoga studio. My studio. All I need is you two to spread the word." They traded a glance. They'd bankrolled her cold-pressed-juice pop-ups and her failed candle line. Smelled the bullshit on this one already. Ryan cocks a brow. "You even know a downward dog?" Penny drops. The stretch fabric pulls tight, that bubble ass creasing the seam, her tits nearly spilling the bra. Daisy's tongue drags across her lower lip. "Jesus, look at that form," she says, already pitching her voice low and hot. Penny grins, throws the next shape—bridge, hips canted high. Daisy circles, whistles. "Little lower on that pelvis, babe." Ryan feeds the lie. "Yeah, deeper, Penny. Let it open." Every time Penny obeys, the angle gets dirtier, fabric wedged, nipples sharp against nylon. Ryan's hand twitches against her own thigh. Daisy isn't even pretending to watch the pose anymore; her eyes fixed on the wet patch blooming between Penny's legs. A throat clears. Penny stands, eyebrows up, arms crossed under those heavy tits. "You two pervs mind telling me why you're eye-fucking me like a goddamn appetiser?" Silence cracksle. Ryan shrugs. Daisy steps close enough their breath mingles. "We'll back your little studio," she says, thumb grazing Penny's waistband, "but this time we get paid in skin. You give us that sweet body whenever we want, we push your brand to every horny housewife and gym-rat we know." Penny's cheeks flush, but the flush drops lower, nipples pebbling again. Outside a car door slams; none of them moves.