Cadillac Dream

I'd been telling myself for months I needed to try Pilates.

Not the kind you half-follow while eating cereal in bed, but the real thing--equipment, instructors, deliberate breath. Something about the structure had always tempted me. But I put it off. Too many mirrors. Too much vulnerability. Too many long-limbed women with flat stomachs and perfect posture who looked like they already belonged.

I didn't.

Not until one warm Thursday afternoon, when I passed a boutique studio on my block and, without thinking, pulled the door open.

I wasn't in gym clothes. Hoodie, leggings that had seen better days, my hair scraped back in a claw clip. My face still pink from walking.

Just grab a schedule, I told myself. Then vanish.

But then she opened the door.

Tall. Toned. Sleeveless shirt skimming over arms carved by years of control. Blonde hair twisted up, loose strands falling into her cheekbones. Eyes calm and focused--like she was used to being looked at and didn't mind. Her voice, when it came, was low and deliberate.

"You here for an intro session?"

My brain stuttered. "Um... maybe? I was just going to take a look at the schedule."

She didn't blink. Just tilted her head slightly, as if skimming the first line of something she already knew she'd enjoy.

"First time?"

I nodded.

Her mouth curved. Not a full smile--just enough to make my stomach flip. "You'll love it. Come in. I've got a space."

And just like that, I was inside. Following her scent of eucalyptus and something earthier--sage maybe?--into the quiet glow of a place that felt more like a sanctuary than a gym.

"I'm Avery," she said, leading me toward a mat.

Of course she was. Avery. As in: sleek, poised, fully in control of every breath.

"Emery," I said, trying not to sound too breathless.

"Nice to meet you, Emery." Her eyes skimmed me again, this time softer. "Let's start with breath."

I slipped off my shoes and lay down on the mat. The ceiling was high, the light warm, mirrors everywhere--but they didn't judge. They just caught light and angles, reflecting me back in gentler ways.

She crouched beside me, placing her hand just below my ribs.

"Breathe into here," she said, her tone quiet. "Feel the sides of your body expand. The back of your ribcage pressing into the mat. Not just your belly."

I nodded, exhaled--and failed.

Her hand stayed firm.

"Try again," she murmured. "Slower this time."

The next twenty minutes passed in a strange rhythm. Her voice guiding me through movements that didn't look like much but made my core tremble, my thighs quake. Her corrections were never harsh, never clinical--but they were specific. Confident. Her fingers on my shoulder, my hip, the inside of my knee. Each brush felt precise. Unapologetic.

And something about that...

By the time I sat up, my pulse was fluttering everywhere, and I wasn't sure if it was the work or her.

She handed me a glass water bottle.

"So?" she asked.

I gave a shaky grin. "Didn't hate it."

"High praise." Her lips twitched.

"No, I mean--I get it. It was harder than it looks."

"You're stronger than you think," she said. "Just need to peel back a few layers."

The way she said it made my breath catch. I couldn't tell if she meant muscles... or something else.

I booked another session before I left.

By session two, I wore proper leggings. A real sports bra. My body felt less like a costume and more like something I was slowly returning to.

Avery gave me the same nod as I walked in. Subtle. But it made my skin prickle.

She said nothing about my change in outfit. Just waited for me on the mat, same quiet focus, same calm voice.

When she guided me onto the reformer, she was close enough for me to smell her skin.

"Pull the carriage in slowly. And resist on the way out."

Her hand brushed my thigh to adjust the angle.

Just her fingertips. No hesitation. No apology.

My breath caught.

"Good," she said. "Again."

By session three, I craved hearing her say my name.

"Nice, Emery. That's it."

The way it slid from her mouth did things to me.

The sound lingered. Like she knew exactly how to use it.

By session four, I was shaking by the end of class--and not just from exertion.

She knelt behind me during a mat series, adjusting my pelvis with both hands. Her thumbs just above my waistband, fingers spread low on my belly. Heat radiated from her palms.

"Try softening here," she said. "You're still holding tension."

I almost said: You think?

Later, as we stretched, she sat beside me instead of across the room. Our knees touched.

"You're getting stronger," she said, looking at me--not just my posture. "Progress takes time."

I wanted to ask, Is this part of the progress too? This tension between us?

But I didn't.

I just kept showing up.

By week five, something had shifted.

The air between us wasn't just charged--it was heavy with it. Every breath deeper. Every correction slower. Every brush of her hand lingered just enough to blur the line between professional and something else entirely.

When she said, "We're doing the Cadillac today," it wasn't a suggestion.

The studio was quiet. Golden late afternoon light slipped through the tall windows. I was already warm. My thighs still trembled from footwork.

"Up here," she said, patting the padded table.

I climbed on, trying to keep my breath steady.

She guided me into position. Took my right wrist in her hand, then the left. Looping them gently into the soft black cuffs above my head.

"Comfortable?"

I nodded.

Then she moved to the foot of the table. Took her time adjusting the ankle cuffs. My legs spread. Wider. Suspended by tension. Secure, but open.

The moment was weightless and electric.

Her hands glided up my calves. Past my knees. Higher.

"You're trembling again."

She didn't say it like a concern. She said it like a fact she liked.

Her hands stopped just below my hips.

"Still holding tension," she said. "Here. And here."

Her fingers grazed the inside seams of my leggings.

"I can help, if you want."

"Yes," I whispered.

She didn't need to ask twice.

She climbed onto the table slowly, confidently. Her body moved like she knew mine already. Her mouth brushed my jaw, my throat, the top of my chest where my sports bra met flushed skin.

Then she peeled it off, slow. My breath stalled.

"You're beautiful," she murmured, more to herself than me. "Soft in all the right places."

She licked over my nipple. Then sucked.

The cuffs held me in place, arching into her mouth without shame. My breath hitched. My hips rolled--just a little.

She watched that.

Then she slid lower.

She stripped me slowly. Like she enjoyed it. Like this was part of the work.

When she saw the mess between my thighs, her eyes darkened.

"You've been wet since you walked in, haven't you?"

I whimpered.

"Let's see how much more I can pull from you."

Then her mouth was on me. Warm. Slow. Licking from base to tip, parting me with her tongue. Her hands on my thighs kept me wide open. I couldn't move. Couldn't hide.

She sucked on my clit--gentle at first, then firmer, working a rhythm that made me moan louder than I meant to. She didn't stop. Didn't speak.

Just devoured.

My body pulled tight. Heat roared in waves. And when I came--panting, undone--she didn't pull away. She groaned into me like it turned her on to feel me break.

Only when I finally sagged back did she lift her head.

"You taste even better than I imagined."

I blinked, dazed.

She kissed her way back up my body. Straddled my waist. Peeled off her top.

Golden skin. Taut muscle. Her nipples hard and flushed as she leaned in, kissing me slow and deep, letting me taste myself on her tongue.

"You're not done," she whispered. "Not even close."

Avery kissed me again--slow, unhurried. Tongue sliding against mine, tasting the wreck she'd made of me. Her body pressed into mine, flushed skin over flushed skin, her hips grinding lightly over my stomach like an unspoken promise.

Then she sat back on her knees, straddling my hips. The sunlight kissed every curve of her--the sheen on her chest, the taut line of her abs, the pink tips of her breasts. Her hands slid down my sides, dragging her nails along my waist in a way that made me flinch and shiver.

"You like being open for me like this," she said softly, and I did. God, I did.

My wrists pulled helplessly against the cuffs when she reached down and teased a finger along my inner thigh, not touching where I needed her--just circling closer, watching my reactions with a patient hunger.

"You're already soaked again," she murmured. "And I've barely touched you."

I whimpered.

She shifted her hips back, dragging her core down to meet mine--slick against slick. The contact made me jerk. Her lips parted with a small gasp.

"Emery," she breathed. "You're so wet I can feel you dripping."

She moved slowly, dragging her pussy over mine with slow, deliberate rolls. My legs were still suspended, pulled open by the Cadillac's tower. My body locked into place while hers moved freely, grinding and circling until our clits slid together with a wet pulse that made my vision blur.

The sound of it--filthy and rhythmic--echoed off the high ceilings. Her breath caught every time our hips aligned just right. Mine was already wrecked. I couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but moan, helpless in the cuffs while she rode me, teasing us both into a slow, burning edge.

"Look at me," she whispered.

I tried. She took my face in her hand, kissed me as she moved faster. She was panting into my mouth, sweat beading on her lower back, our bodies slapping together with more urgency.

When I cried out--high, broken--she didn't stop.

"Don't come yet," she said against my lips. "Not until I say."

I nodded, barely.

Then she shifted again. Slid down between my thighs, this time staying there. Her fingers spread me open and her mouth was right back on my clit, firmer now. More intent.

She worked me like a slow seduction--pressing, licking, circling. Every flick precise. Every moan from me only making her go deeper. She brought me up and backed off, again and again, until I was shaking in the cuffs, hips trying to lift and grind, my breath ragged and desperate.

"Avery--please--"

"You want to come?" she murmured, mouth brushing over me.

I nodded wildly. "Yes. Please. I need--"

Her tongue pressed flat and she sucked me hard, two fingers sliding inside at the same time. Curling deep.

That was all it took.

My orgasm ripped through me--loud, sudden, overwhelming. I sobbed her name. My thighs quivered violently in the restraints as she held me down and rode out every pulse with her fingers and tongue.

I sagged into the table, boneless.

But she wasn't done.

She kissed her way up again, released the ankle cuffs one at a time, lowering my legs carefully. Then, without a word, she straddled me again--lower now, so her slick heat rested directly against mine.

Her arms slid under my knees, folding them up, pressing them toward my chest as she began grinding again--this time harder, dirtier, her clit rubbing against mine with fast, desperate friction. I could barely keep up.

Her hands grabbed mine and laced our fingers together, pinning them above my head. I was limp, overstimulated, but still trembling with want.

"You're mine like this," she whispered. "You were always going to be mine."

She kissed me again--biting this time.

I came again without warning--hips jerking, voice cracking.

Avery stilled, gasping into my neck.

We collapsed into each other, sweaty, tangled, breathless.

She gently unfastened the wrist cuffs and kissed each of my wrists where the pressure had been. One. Then the other. Soft, slow, reverent.

I curled into her, my body still twitching with aftershocks, and she wrapped her arms around me, sliding down the table so we lay side by side, chest to chest, legs tangled.

As I lay there, flushed and boneless, Avery kissed my forehead, still stroking slow circles down my thigh.

"Better than breathwork?" she murmured.

I let out a broken laugh against her shoulder. "Barely survived that."

She grinned, wicked and soft all at once. "That was beginner level."

I blinked at her, still floating.

"You'll want to stretch tonight," she added, kissing the corner of my mouth. "Because next time... I'm not holding back."

And just like that, the ache in my body turned into hunger again.