Broadcast Lust Ch. 03

When I went to the counter I saw Jane rearranging shorts only gay men should wear in the tiny men's section. She didn't look at me. The deep pink pants and the lemon-yellow sports bra top cost me $178.18 that I should really be using for food.

I was nervous when I got to class. I meant to get there early so I could change alone and grab a spot in the corner before anyone showed up. But I wasted so much time at the yoga store. I changed in one of the bathroom stalls so the tight, toned yoga women couldn't see. (Was I a tight, toned yoga woman now too?)

And then I took a deep breath, told my face to smile and stepped out.

OK, Tessa. Shoulders back. Chin up. Smile. Walk from the hips like a Russian. The women in the locker room didn't notice me, but the teacher, Mandy, certainly did.
 
 "Oh my god, Tessa?" she almost screamed in shock. "You look incredible! I am so proud of you!"

She bolted from behind the desk and pulled me close in a hug I always imagined you would get from a sister. I felt my forced smile become a smile. I felt calm. I felt confident. I felt like Skinny Tessa Gregg. I felt like me.

I thanked Mandy. I felt proud. I walked into the studio. I walked into Hell.

It didn't seem like hell at first. It seemed wonderful. It seemed like what I'd yearned for. I'd been fat and invisible for so long. It's funny how the bigger you are the less people seem to pay attention to you.

But I wasn't big anymore. I glanced in the mirror and felt my smile widen as I saw a beautiful, fit young woman with dark skin and bright green eyes stride confidently across the room, her pony tail swinging and her butt flexing with every step.

I felt a thrill as I noticed the few guys in the class playing the "I'm looking but I'm way too spiritual to be obvious about it" game and was shocked when I realized they were playing it with ME. They were looking at ME. I felt a strange new tingle of power as a few of the women giving me "the look of jealous judgment" that only women understand. I saw an overweight woman tucked away in the corner. I felt her eyes on me. I felt her longing. I felt her jealousy. I realized she wanted to be me. I smiled.

I laid out my mat. I got on my hands and knees and tried not to be too obvious as I watched STG do Cat/Cow again and again in he mirror and traced the tight muscles of

my bare belly with my eyes. I watched my belly ring glint and glimmer like a lighthouse telling sailors it was safe to come home.

I felt happy. I felt unashamed. I felt optimistic.

And then suddenly I feel so hungry. I feel the saliva building in my mouth. I feel the hard wood of the floor digging into my knees and I realize I'm crawling like an animal across the room. I'm crawling like an animal across the room towards him. Towards That Man.

I hadn't even noticed him when I walked in the room. He was just another "old" guy standing on his mat at yoga. He must have been 35 at least. He probably had a wife and kids and a job he hated. He was handsome but not devastatingly so. He wasn't my type. Even when I was FTG I probably never would have given him a second glance.

But now I can't look away. I'm crawling towards him and all I can feel is lust and worship and a need to make him feel good no matter what the cost.

I try to stop. I try to turn my head. I try to dig my fingernails hard into my palm. But I can't.

Or no. It's not that I can't. It's that suddenly I don't want to. I don't want to stop. And I hate myself for it.

Suddenly STG is in control. Not "Skinny Tessa Gregg." No, what I always feared I would become. What my Dad knew I would become. What he tried to protect me from becoming. Suddenly I'm "Slutty Tessa Gregg." And she's so very, very hungry after being starved for so long.

I scream to stop, but STG ignores me. She crawls eagerly towards That Man. I feel my eyes devouring him like a hungry lioness over a fresh kill.

He's tall. 6'2" at least (and, I hear STG think, sturdy and strong enough for a small girl like me to climb.)

That Man's eyes are closed. His brow is furrowed in concentration. He looks . . . bothered. Like something inside him is broken and he needs me to fix it.

I try to close my eyes but I'm powerless as my gaze dances along his broad chest and thick, brawny arms and "shoulder humps." I'm suddenly captivated by his large, strong hands. STG purrs in anticipation. I know those hands are big and strong enough to make me feel absolutely helpless as he holds me down, brings his lips to mine, forces me to give him everything. Forces me to be his slut.

A shiver goes down my spine. Of excitement or shame I don't know. Suddenly his full, masculine lips fill my world. I feel an overpowering need to nibble them. Every inch of my skin yearns to be kissed. I want to drink deep of his masculinity. His strength. His power. STG growls like a animal as I look at his chest. His incredible, strong, hairy, chest. I hate chest hair. I've always hated chest hair. The boys I dreamed of (when I lost control. When I let myself dream.) were always hairless and non-threatening and considerate and smooth to the touch. They went as slow as I needed them to go. They didn't want anything from me.

But at that moment I realize those were boys. And that STG doesn't like boys. She likes men.

My eyes glide down his flat (hairy) belly to his hips. Deep fissures of muscle (what I heard girls call "The V") guide my gaze down to his tight shorts. To his (cock purrs STG in my mind. Just say cock.) To his "package."

I've always hated when guys wear those really TIGHT shorts to yoga class. I know it's a double standard. I know I just bought bright pink and very tight yoga pants of my own, but the last thing I want to think about while stretching and sweating and suffering through class are the penises (cocks says STG) of the "yoga dudes" around me. I think sometimes guys are only going to yoga to show off how big their dicks are.

That Man's package bulges forward proudly. I feel my hips churn as STG imagines what it must look like, what it must taste like. What it would feel like to have his cock sliding deep into my quivering . . .

GAH! STOP! STOP! I've worked so hard.

I want to cry. I want to leave. I want my Dad to come rushing into the room and save me. To stop me before it's too late.

But none of that happens. Instead I'm totally helpless as STG stares at his ass. It's thick. Strong. Round and solid and squared off like a man's ass should be. I imagine the power that ass could transmit to his hips as he thrust brutally forward. Brutally forward into me.

(Oh, God. Please stop this. Oh, God.)

Finally, there are his legs. Long and brutal and covered in just the right amount of hair to remind you he's a man. His quads bulge at me and I want to sink my teeth into them.

I crawl onto his mat like an obedient kitten. I look up at him with worship. I let out an anguished silent sob in my mind at what I knew I was about to do. I feel my jaw loosen. I feel my clever little tongue wet my lips, tracing around the edge like a slut in a porn movie.

I lean forward and taste him. I watch in horror as STG kisses and licks my way up his thigh.

I taste the tang of his sweat and revel in how delicious he was.

I look up. His eyes are open. He looks . . . surprised. Surprised and thrilled.

I lock eyes with That Man and feel small and weak. I shiver as he smiles at me.

That Man doesn't look sad or broken-hearted anymore. He looks . . . brutal . . . confident. Magnetically terrifying in a way that sends sparks up and down my spine and creates an agonizing itch deep in my "womanhood."

My nose traces the outline of him through his tight, tight shorts and I feel his cock begin to stiffen delightfully for me. I trace wet kisses up to his belly and try to push my tongue past the waistband of his shorts but can't get far enough down no matter how hard I try.

With a girlish, moaning giggle I never knew could come out of my mouth I bring both hands to his hips. I trace the "Vs" of his pelvic muscles with my thumbs. I smile at him with my eyes and pull his shorts slowly down to his knees with a confidence I never knew I could feel.

His hard cock gets caught for a second. It flexes downward, stuck in the prison of his shorts. And then suddenly springs free.

And it's . . . gorgeous. The first one I've ever seen up close before. And all the more gorgeous because it's for me.

That Man's cock is hard and beautiful and perfect. I measure with my eyes. It's maybe 7 inches? I can barely close my small hand around it (Oh my GOD I'm actually touching it. STOP, Tess. STOP.)

He's circumcised. The shaft has a very slight bend to it. STG appraises his cock. "Perfect. Just too big enough."

His cock throbs in front of me. I swear it smiles at me and it's beautiful. It's like the Mona Lisa of cock.

"All for me," I mouth like a slut and I notice the tingle as my sensitive nipples push against my lemon-yellow yoga top.

I bury my face in his crotch and take a deep inhale.

I want to be disgusted at what I was doing. At how I'm acting. But I don't. I can't.

Instead I feel something in my mind shift at the smell of him. I feel his pheromones and that incredible masculine MUSK rush through me to that secret, submissive mammalian part of my brain. I feel some other part of me give in. I feel another piece of me surrender and give up.

And I feel my pussy suddenly get very, very, very, devastatingly wet. I feel my thighs pulse and squeeze together. I feel my hips twist and churn. I feel defeated.

I whimper like a dog in my mind. I'm helpless. I'm out of control. I'm a slut.

And I act like a slut. I feel my tongue lap at his balls. My small right hand teases the head of his cock. I'm shocked and confused as I seem to know exactly what to do. Exactly what That Man likes, wants, needs me to do.

But it's my left hand that betrays me completely. That ruins me.

I feel my fingers trace their way down my stomach, past my little belly ring to the gap left by my pants, my flat tummy and my hips.

I feel my ass clench in my almost-painted-on yoga pants, pushing my pelvis closer to him until I'm almost humping his leg.

My fingers dart down below the useless imaginary barrier of my waistband and push against my pelvis to dig under the waistband of my frilly new "skinny girl" panties.

I feel how soaked my poor new panties are. My stomach muscles suddenly tense as a shiver of triumph or devastating defeat hums through my whole body.

"No, please, no," I beg in my mind. "Please. PLEASE. I'll be GOOD. I'm not a SLUT. I'm NOT. PLEASE."

But my fingers don't listen. STG just mocks me and laughs. My neatly trimmed pubic hair tickles the pads of my fingers and glides along the skin of my palm.

And then my hips buck as my index finger finally rubs against my clit. My hand dives deeper. Two fingers curl and sin so very, very easily into the sopping inferno of my desperate pussy.

And for the first time in my life my mind goes blank. Utterly blank.

And I'm terrified by the quiet like someone has suddenly turned off all my anxiety and all my doubt and all my self-criticism and all my pain and all my "shoulda woulda coulda" and all my "you're not good enough" and all my "Don't you fucking think you're something special you stupid bitch" that I carry around like a chain around my neck every single day. All suddenly gone.

I flex my finger in my needy little pussy and feel my stomach muscles and ass roll as I kneel before That Man and engulf his just-too-big-enough and absolutely gorgeous cock in my poor mouth I'm thinking of anything at all.

I'm just feeling the pleasure of giving my body what it needs. And feeling the joy of doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. And feeling the satisfaction of giving That Man what he wanted. What he needs.

It's astonishing. It's overwhelming. It's bliss.

I feel That Man growl. I don't hear him. I feel him. This incredible low-bass vibration is transmitted into me from his chest, through his pelvis, through his throbbing cock and directly into my mouth.

I feel his large, strong hands tangle in my hair right below my pony tail and fire building in me as he truly took control. I feel helpless and if my mouth wasn't full I'm sure I would smile because STG liked it.

His brawny, unyielding arm firmly, insistently pulls me further down onto his cock as I pushed a third finger deep into my clenching, ecstatic pussy.

"There you go. There you go. You can do it." he whisper-growls as I feel the head of his cock pushing against the very back of my throat. My jaw muscles ache already from his girth. I try to breathe through my nose. I try to relax. I try to give him what he wants. I try to swallow him.

But I can't. I'm not good enough. I'm never good enough. I can't.

I feel myself choking. I feel myself drowning. I feel like a part of me is dying and will never come back.

"Guh," I gasp and cough as he releases me.

I look up at That Man. I'm terrified he'll be mad at me. But he's smiling down at me with something close to pride and gratitude. And then his hands are grabbing at my lemon-yellow yoga top. I feel my sensitive, hard nipples rubbing against the thin spandex and feel torturous pleasure run from my nipples to my pussy to my brain. I'm wondering how long until he rips my new deep-pink yoga pants off and fucks me right there in front of everyone when suddenly . . .

"Good evening, yogis," Mandy said as she walked in the room to start class.

And then somehow I was back on my mat own mat like nothing happened. My head was fuzzy like I was coming out of a dream. I was back in "control." And STG was thrashing uncontrollably in my mind wanting more. Needing more.

I looked in the mirror and suddenly That Man and I locked eyes and STG threw herself viciously against the cage I keep her in in my brain. That Man was breathing heavy. His neck muscles were tense. His hands were balled in fists at his side. I looked down and saw how agonizingly hard he was and I was suddenly furious at myself for being so delighted thinking he was so hard for me.

"We'll start on our backs," Mandy said and the class is quiet chaos as everyone shifts to corpse pose.

My nipples were hard like daggers. My stomach muscles clenched tight like my whole body would fall apart if I loosened them.

I moved to lie down and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I saw my slack jaw. My half- open mouth yearning to taste him. I saw a gorgeous, desperate young woman who's held back this thing inside her for so long but couldn't hold it back anymore.

I saw the spreading stain on my new deep-pink yoga pants.

I breathed deep and I realized with dawning horror that everyone could smell my pussy. Could smell my shame. Could smell what a slut I am. Oh, no. Oh dear God please no.

The soccer mom next to me sniffed the air with confusion. The short guy who always wears the same Black Sabbath T-shirt to class grinned and sniffed the air like a wolf. I clenched my teeth and tried not to scream as I realized I'm in hell.