Private Lesson: Tae Kwon Do Me by Lola Fox

Banging My Instructor
     
    Shit…there he is. Breathe, just
breathe.
    Master Park and his fine self,
stretching out on the mat, looking good and doing things to my body
without laying a single finger on me. If I’m to get my way, that’ll
change soon enough. I laugh, knowing my strict—but otherwise
loving—father would definitely have a problem with the sexual
images running through my pure mind right about now. Pure…right…as
if.
    No, I don’t go around
sleeping with just any guy I find attractive, but there’s definitely something about
this particular older man that has me in a tizzy, to put it
mildly.
    And the more I think about him, which
is a lot by the way, the closer I am to making my
“move.”
    I’m not looking for a relationship
with the guy, and I’d be lying if I were to say that I am. But if
he were to show any sign of interest in me, anything in the
slightest, I wouldn’t have him wining and dining me for days on end
to give him a little action, that’s for sure. Problem is…he barely
knows I exist. Except for the times he’s busy chiding me. And oh, I
think he may be of the impression that I’m kind of a flake—which
I’m here to rectify, starting tonight.
    Today’s my first private lesson with
the thirty-something-year-old martial arts expert trained to snap a
man in two…with hands of steel that move at lightning speeds, and
thick, strong looking legs that do all sorts of weird and exciting
things in the air that has me blushing in all the right places.
Speaking of which…my pussy’s tingling something awful as I take my
cute little flip-flops off, careful not to scuff my perfectly
manicured toenails, especially the pretty little design on my big
toes. God…I’m nervous, and yet excited at the same time.
    “ Ouch! Cold! ” I shout, probably a bit louder
than I intended to.
    “ Focus!” Master Park raises
his voice at me, and I turn to look, only to snap my head back when
his facial expression has “don’t fuck with me” written all over it.
Yikes!
    Focus, huh? Why
don’t you focus on
my fucking delicious piece of pussy pie, Master Park? I silently
warn in my throat, jerking my head forward in misguided courage as
my face constricts with an equally delusional dose of confidence.
How can a man as handsome as Master Park look so scary at
times?
    My dad brought me here about two weeks
ago, with me dragging my feet—quite literally—as I did my best to
act like he was taking me to shop for my very first training bra.
Which, thank goodness, my mom had still been alive to do, a few
years before she passed away.
    Having quickly tired of
sharing Master Park with the other students, and since money is no
object for daddy’s little princess, I jumped at the first opening
he had, for what’s bound to be a pussy-clenching, ass-puckering,
one-on-one session. I so can’t believe I gave my dad such a hard
time in coming here in the first place. Shit. To think…he couldn’t
bribe me away from here now—not even with front row seats to a
Justin Timberlake concert. Back stage pass, you say? Fuck that…I
want me some of what’s going on underneath that gee, ghei, gi, whatever the black
uniform he’s wearing the shit out of, is called. I’m not here to
learn all that chop-socky, mumbo-jumbo nonsense. I’m here for one
thing and one thing only: Master Park. And his skillful hands. And
whatever deadly weapon he’s packing between his legs. Those
beautiful lips, his broad shoulders… Okay, so maybe that’s more
than one thing, but I was never really all that good at math,
anyway.
    Oh. My. Gosh. I’m staring
at the object of my fantasy through the mirror that runs the length
and width of the entire wall on one side of the dojang. See, Master Park? I have been
listening to you. So there! Score one for Scarlett. Yay! Take
that!
    Focus, Scarlett, like Master Park
always says. And yes, I do sometimes refer to myself in third
person. I’m funny like that.
    Master Park…last name