Broadcast Lust Ch. 04

Chapter 4: Mark Destroys Tessa

August 23, 6:03PM Emerald City Hot Yoga, Capitol Hill, Seattle, WA

I tried. I tried so hard. I did. I tried to be good. I tried not to do it to The Girl In Pink again. I tried to sink into that quiet place in my mind where there is only the breathing and the movement and the stretch and no thought and no desire and no lust and no hunger and no need.

I tried not to see the deep stain in her pink yoga tights spreading down her thighs like an endless, unstoppable wave. I tried to forget the flex in her gorgeous ass as she clenched her thighs together so hard trying (and failing miserably) to stop the gushing river flowing between her legs.

I tried not to inhale the sweet, rancid, intoxicating smell of her pussy. I wondered how long it had been since I'd smelled a truly excited woman? Months? Years? Ever?

The smell of her seemed to push its way into me and it was fucking delicious.

Goosebumps rose all over my skin. My nipples stiffened. My hard (so fucking hard) cock pulsed to the beat of my heart begging to be let loose from my tight yoga shorts.

"The whole world doesn't need to know you've got a big dick, you know," Sarah mocked the first time she saw me in "the shorts."

I felt a flood of familiar shame wash over me. Shame I'd had for so long it felt comforting like an old sweater. I felt a tightness in the back of my throat. I felt my jaw quiver and my face turn red. It was stupid, but I'd thought maybe she'd like what she saw. I thought maybe she'd give me a compliment or something. I thought maybe she'd reach out and cup my crotch in her palm and give me that smile I hadn't seen in so long. I thought we'd end up "making love" for the first time in two months.

"I swear, Mark, sometimes I really think you're gay. I don't know why you need to show off when you've already got me. It's kind of pitiful, really. I can't believe I married the kind of guy who needs to be told how hot he is all the time. Do you even love me? Do you even want to be in this marriage? Wearing those it's like you're advertising or something. It's disgusting." And she'd left me there in the bedroom half naked and furious and ashamed and wishing I could make her see something in me to love again.

But I didn't feel ashamed now. I felt excited. I felt alive. I felt like I was at the top of a bridge about to jump off and I wasn't sure if my bungee was attached or not and I really didn't care.

My eyes hunted across the room past the confused looks and the lecherous grins and the subtly tilting hips of the yoga girls and yoga dudes until finally finding my prey. Until finally finding the gorgeous young woman with the pussy-drenched yoga pants and the intoxicating, lusting shame.

She was a mess and I hated myself for thinking her embarrassment and pain was so beautiful. I hated myself for the thoughts and urges creeping in my mind . I hated myself for wanting to make it so much worse for her and somehow knowing I could if I just let myself give in.

She looked devastated and delicious. Her jaw was quivering like she couldn't decide if she needed to cry or scream. Her eyes shined like she suddenly realized she was in a horror movie and she wasn't the virginal young ingenue destined to survive.

Goosebumps rose on The Girl In Pink's soft, dark flesh as she felt the ravenous need of every straight man in the room crawl towards her, pull at her clothes, pull at her flesh. She shivered like a deer who had run and run her entire young life until she wasn't even sure what she was running from. It was nothing but instinct. It was nothing but fear of being consumed. But finally she was cornered by the wolves she'd been warned about. She was finally caught. She could finally give in. Dark hairs raised on the back of her neck (her neck screamed for me to nibble and lick and bite. I clenched my jaw to stifle the growl within me. I clenched my jaw so tight I thought I'd break my teeth.) The Girl In Pink took deep, measured breaths. The Girl In Pink tried to be brave. The Girl In Pink tried to swallow her fear and confusion as she tried to figure out what the hell had happened.

What the hell had made her soak her bright, pink tights. She closed her eyes and tried to push her shoulders back. She tried to stand tall and proud and unafraid and ignore her shame. She tried to pretend she was still in control.

And she failed so beautifully. 


The deep delicious stain of her gushing pussy painted itself wider and wider on her thighs, her ass, her tightly muscled quads. Every man and woman in the room felt our nostrils flare as we all inhaled the heady wanting scent of her and breathed in the intoxicating call of her desire to be taken. To be ravished. To be fucked. My "nice" thoughts and concern for the "poor embarrassed girl" drained out of my mind like water running through a sieve. Thoughts evaporated. Hearts pounded. That damn aching CHILL throbbed in the back of my brain and I felt an invisible thread between me and The Girl in Pink. Every cock in the room stiffened and ached for her. Every clit engorged. Every pussy softened and wetted and opened. Nipples turned to diamonds in sports bras and too-expensive tank tops. Breathing deepened and became haggard. As a pack we inhaled her lust, so much deeper and darker and more powerful than the musk and sweat and just-barely-deniable sexual hum that was always in this room of fit and sweaty flesh. As a class we devoured her. As a pack we consumed her with our eyes and breath and questing, hungry tongues thrashing in our mouths, yearning to be let out.

And the poor, poor Girl In Pink felt it all. She felt the class closing in on her. She felt her wet desire spread and spread. She felt it all and she quaked uncontrollably. Her shoulders slumped. Her carefully built confidence and defiance and pride fled as she realized she had been nothing but prey all along. She'd run until she could run no more - until her legs and hips and primal, electric need finally betrayed her. She tried to make herself small.

She tried to hide. She tried to will herself to wake up, to escape into her mind, to disappear.

She tried so hard and failed again and again. Because deep in her mind, in her heart, in her poor gushing pussy she knew she'd wanted to be caught all along.

I ran my eyes along her quivering jaw. I drank in the look of defeated horror and terrified anticipation on her pretty, pretty face.

Suddenly something deep in me lurched towards her like a beast breaking its chains. A low growl hummed in my chest and my arms and my cock. I felt delighted shock in my bones as the whole room seemed to throb so slightly towards her as one.

"Circle sweep your arms up to mountain pose," Mandy The Teacher said in a slightly- shaky voice. A slightly shaky voice that said "I am just barely in control."

I tried to be good. I tried to be the "nice guy" I'd always told myself I was supposed to be.

I tried to keep my mind blank. I didn't understand what I could do yet, but I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn't. But I was so weak.

I stood up straight. I circled my arms above my head. I eyed my biceps and chest and ribs in the mirror. I saw the sweat dripping from me in the warm room even though class had barely started. I stared into my own eyes and saw something cold and sure and powerful I wished I didn't recognize. I wished wasn't me.

The Beast In The Mirror stared at me and smirked and I felt a sudden panicked need to bow my head, to bare my belly, to whimper and submit and hide. I saw the smile on The Beast In The Mirror's face and knew it was enjoying my fear. Was feasting on it. Was hungry for so much more.

But I tried to be good. I tried to deny this sudden hurricane of lust. Of anger. Of ownership. Of need.

"Bring your arms to cactus position into a deep backbend," Mandy stuttered and a flash of her naked and panting and worshipping my cock flashed hard through my mind.

("Mine," The Beast In The Mirror growled so low I could barely hear but could feel in every cell of my body.)

I bent back. I felt the strong muscles in my shoulders (muscles Sarah had hated. Muscles Sarah had resented and accused me of being an attention whore) gather and flex. I felt my cock press forward towards the mirror, stiff and proud and knew everyone could see.

"And now bring your hands to heart center and relax into forward fold," Mandy said in labored staccato like a particularly hot and feminine William Shatner.

I bent at the hips. I fired my thick quads. I felt the stretch in my hamstrings and legs. I felt my cock press so hard into my belly as I let my head hang.

I tried to breathe through my mouth but The Beast ignored me. The Beast drank deep of the delightful dance of pheromones.

"Now bring your legs back to high plank. Lower yourself halfway down to chattaranga." I felt the strength of my triceps as I hovered just inches above the ground.

"Hover your knees and use your arms to push yourself into upward dog."

I felt my back muscles ripple. I squeezed my ass, bent at the low back, threw my head back, felt a sudden need to howl. I bit my tongue. All that existed was the heavy breathing in the room.

"Now use your hands to push back into downward dog. It's OK if your knees are bent, yogis. Just do what feels right to your body," Mandy said, something in her tone suddenly so labored and smooth and sensual.

I pushed back. I felt satisfying pain as my calves stretched and my heels fell towards the floor. I tightened my belly. I forced myself to keep my eyes so tightly shut. I forced myself to ignore the scent that called to me. I forced myself to ignore the thrashing, laughing, commanding roar of The Beast In The Mirror.

I could close my eyes. I could struggle so hard to breathe through my mouth (and even then I swear I could taste her.) But I couldn't close my ears. I couldn't block out the sound The Girl In Pink made then.

"Huh . . . Guhuh," The Girl In Pink gasped and sobbed in a voice so high and so innocent and so humiliated that my eyes flew open all on their own. My head snapped towards her through the endless maze of mirrors. My nostrils pulled the scent of my prey greedily into me. Into the depths of me. Into the part of me that had been hungry for so long.

And something in me simply broke.

The Girl In Pink was sobbing so softly. Choking on her own tears. She was bent in a inverted V, hands and feet on the ground, head pointed towards the floor. Her heavy breasts strained the straps of her lemon-yellow yoga top (I imagined severing the straps with my sharp, sharp teeth.)

I imagined licking the salty sweat from her back. I imagined the taste of her tears. I climbed her small, lithe body, felt sparks in my mind at the gentle curve of her back,

settled on her delightful little ass, covered in vulnerable pink, stained with the juice of her, pointed so invitingly in the air.

"*Guh* . . . *Huh* . . . I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I heard her whisper and felt my ears devour every moan and grunt and word.

She was so quiet as she endured her misery. Nothing loud and sharp like she was in physical pain. No this was much more subtle and much more devastating and much, much worse.

"Guh . . . guh," she almost squeaked and I felt convulsions down my spine.

The tight muscles of her arms and back trembled as she tried so hard to hold herself up in a perfectionist's downward dog. Her full, womanly breasts quivered with every rapid, gasping, horrified breath.

The overweight man (was he? He seemed so much more a boy) behind her fell to his knees. He was wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt and a look of awe on his ugly, padded face. His mouth hung open. He inhaled so deeply I could almost imagine him bursting his lungs. He wiped his glasses on his shirt, almost fumbled them to the ground, perched them on his nose and stared at The Girl In Pink's astonishing ass like he was staring at the face of God. He stayed there on his knees in the truest example of worship I'd ever seen.

And The Girl In Pink shivered and trembled and so very, very quietly cried.

"Pedal your legs out, yogis. It's your first downward dog of class. Feel the stretch."

The Girl In Pink's ass cheeks contracted and released again and again as she pedaled her feet out. Black Sabbath T-Shirt watched enraptured, saving every detail for when he was home. When he was alone. When he was free to pretend he was more than just a voyeur in his own life.

"Push back into high plank," Mandy said. And we did. The Girl In Pink's body made a perfect, perfect line and I marveled at her will. I hungered at her obedience.

Because she didn't have to do any of this. She didn't have to do anything at all. The Girl In Pink could have stayed on the floor, curled up in child's pose, buried her face in her hands and her pussy on her calves, cried quietly, tried not to squirm and let herself melt away until class was over. No one would have been mad. No one would have judged.

Or she could have grabbed her mat and her purple water bottle and used those fantastic little legs to run out of the room. She could have dashed upstairs to the locker room, drench herself in the shower and try to wring her humiliation and shame out of her soiled pink yoga pants in the sink.

She could have escaped.

But no. Instead The Girl In The Pink Yoga Pants And The Lemon-Yellow Top listened to

Mandy. She listened to the teacher and almost-automatically obeyed.

"And now push back into downward dog again," Mandy said. And with a barely- perceptible groan, The Girl In Pink did just that, pushing her ass back towards Black Sabbath T-Shirt's saucer-like eyes. She gripped her matt with her strong little hands, thrust her hips back and up until her hamstrings tensed. She presented her sopping, needy pussy with no hesitation and untold mountains of shame.


And the pack pulsed again towards her. Men and women bent at the waist on hands and feet like animals, muscles coiled and ready to spring.

"On the exhale, bend your knees and jump so lightly to the front of your mat," said Mandy. I caught sight of her pretty face. I saw the distraction in her eyes as she unconsciously parroted the words she'd repeated again and again and again.

I watched The Girl In Pink shift her weight (110 pounds? Maybe?) to her hands and reveled in the flex of her triceps as she floated to the front of her mat until she was bent completely at the waist, her legs straight, her ass high and needful in the air.

Suddenly I noticed it again. The cold ache at the back of my skull. A cold, throbbing ache that had been there for so much of my life but I'd only just noticed. I'd only just realized I wasn't supposed to be in constant, constant pain. The cold ache throbbed in my brain and this invisible thread between me and The Girl In Pink went taught and tense and electric, connecting us in terrible intimacy as everything seemed to fade except me and her and the need of every sweaty body in the room.

"And bring your hands back up to mountain pose," said teacher Mandy and again The Girl In Pink obeyed.

"Mine," The Beast In The Mirror growled at me and suddenly I feel warm wood under my feet as I step off my mat towards The Girl In Pink. I weave my way gracefully through the forrest of bodies in the crowded 7PM class.

I lock eyes with Mandy. Her mouth splits open just a tiny, tiny amount like she's going to say something. Like she's going to ask if something is "wrong," but then she shakes her head like and ignores me like a good girl.

"And then lean at the hips, back into forward fold. That's our Vinyasa one, yogis. Now adding on," she says as I walk by. I let my fingers glide across Mandy's tight belly and saw a shiver rush through her.

And then I'm there besides The Girl In The Pink Yoga Pants.

Black Sabbath T-Shirt scurries to the back of his mat as I approach, his eyes blinking spasmodically. A soccer mom on the mat next to The Girl In Pink looks up at me wantonly and I notice the deep need spreading on her yoga pants as well. She moves out of the way. She watches. She gives me and The Girl In Pink room.

At first I just watch The Girl In Pink move and flex and stretch and obey as Mandy talks her through the flow. I watch the rippling muscles in her back as she pulls herself deep in forward fold. I watch her plant her hands and delight in the tension of her tight little ass as she kicks her feet back into high plank. I lock eyes with her in the mirror as she hovers over the ground in up dog, arching her back, clenching her butt, almost seeming to present her poor, bound breasts to me with a look of absolute petrified excitement on her face.

Again she pushes herself back into downward dog. Again I watch her ass thrust back, the muscles quivering like they're searching for something. Again I watch her obey. Again I watch her be a good girl.

I'm on my knees next to her, now. She turns her head towards me with a strange familiarity. I smile at her and tell her to "shhh" as I bring my fingers to the heel of her left foot.

"Ahh," she gasps quietly and flexes her thighs together like she's been so very slightly burned.

"Relax," I mouth at her and can't tell myself if it's a reassurance or a command. I watch with satisfaction as her trembles turn into something between shivers of anticipation and convulsions of erotic fear. I see resignation wash across her face. The look of a girl getting what she knows she deserves.

"Don't move," I whisper to The Girl In Pink as Mandy tells the class to lift their right legs and bring them forward into a deep lunge.

And like she always does, like she needs to, The Girl in Pink obeys.

I glide my fingers over her and watched fascinated as she convulses and struggles and gasps and works so very, very hard to stay quiet and still.

My left hand glides along her arm, across her back, up and down her her flank. I explore her ribs, the tight muscles of her stomach, the beautiful construction of her shoulder. My palm glides over the tips of her breasts and even through her lemon-yellow top I can feel how hard they are.

I scratch my nails lightly down the back of her neck. I hold her throat lightly in my palm. I bring my fingers to her lips and feel her small tongue dart out to lick and suck so quickly, so automatically, so desperate and eager to please.

"Don't move," I whisper again and see her struggle to obey. She shifts from arm to arm, leg to leg to give her tired muscles a tiny break. To be a good girl for me.

My eyes catch on the dimples of her low back, right above the waistband of her soiled pink pants. Deep little smiling fissures brought on from so much exercise. Perfect little thumb-holds while holding her by the hips and fucking her from behind.

I look in the mirror and see The Beast's wide smile. I let a rumble escape my chest as I nibble and lick my way up her tiny arm. I bury my nose in her hairless armpit and inhale the scent of her (no fucking deodorant to get in the way.)

I hear her gasp and feel something in her shift as I lightly bite at her yearning nipples through the lemon-yellow top. I leave wet kisses along her side and taste her delicious salty sweat. Finally I swirl and lick at the dimples above her ass. No stupid sorority tattoos to mar her perfect, dark skin. I lap at her like the animal I suddenly am and then blow hard through my pursed lips to send a cool shock through the wet spot of saliva on her flesh.

Meanwhile my right hand climbs its way so slowly to her poor, tortured pussy. My fingers tickle lightly at the short patch of skin between the bottom of her pink tights and her feet.

I dig my fingernails into the back of her thigh and feel the thin material of her pants protest as my nails scratch against her. I glide my hand to the astonishing globes of her ass. Such a beautiful, full ass, especially for such a small young woman.