Broadcast Lust Ch. 04

I palm one globe and then the other. I squeeze hard.

"Oh no, oh please no," she whispers in a voice she probably meant to sound convincing but wasn't to anyone at all.

I feel her push her hips back against my hand. I feel her body betray her even more fully. I feel every part of her screaming at me again and again "Touch me, please touch, dear

God please touch me. Please."

I push my shorts down past my hips, past my knees to the floor. I step out of them. I glance in the mirror and see my cock (so hard. So fucking hard) floating in the air in front of me, pointing towards this wanton young slut like a dowsing rod.

I look at her face and see her fixated on my cock. I see her lick her lips. I feel her thighs squeeze and contract and pulse under my hand.

I bring my hand to the the divide of her thighs. I let my middle finger probe insistently between her legs. I feel her tighten up. I feel her resist.

"No, no, please, not here. Not in front of everyone. Please."

I look down at her begging face. I lock eyes. I smile. And I spank her hard across the right cheek of her ass.

"AHHHHH," she screams. Her legs buckle. Her arms go weak. She falls to her knees on the mat as every head in the room turns towards us. As every set of eyes see her punished for being bad. As no one says a thing. As no one tries to stop me. As everyone watches.

I place my right hand on her low back. I laugh to myself at how my thumb and pinky finger could reach hip to hip. I rub and massage her ass as the sting subsided.

"I'm sorry," she whimpers. 


And I can tell she really is.

On trembling arms she pushes herself back into downward dog again. I glide my hand across her abs and feel how tense and tight they are. How hard she's working to hold in position. To hold still. I look at her face and see the concentration in her eyes as she forces herself to spread her thighs for my probing hand.

I palm her pussy with my right hand and feel the heat and the wet there. 


"Ahh . . . Ahh," she moans in frustration as she tries to rub her poor clit against my fingers through the material of her pants. I keep my hand just light enough, just loose enough to tease her.

Her hips tilt and roll and convulse and search for my hand. Her fingers claw at the mat.

Her left hand comes off the mat and darts halfway to her crotch before stopping and returning to its place on the floor.

I use my hands to spread her legs wider. I see the seams of her tight pink yoga pants stretch like they want nothing more in the world than to burst and leave her naked and open and wet.

I let her torture herself for a few moments longer. I watch her in the mirror pushing back against my hand again and again so desperate for the friction I denied her as I keep my long fingers and strong hands so agonizingly loose.

"Please, please. I need to c . . . PLEASE," she begged. 


I scan the room and see the dozens of eyes staring at her. Listening to her. Smelling her. Wanting her. Wanting to be her.

"No!," she groans as I remove my hand from her pussy. I smell her on my palm. I feel the heat of her against my lips. I watch her tremble and shake and try so very, very hard to be a good girl. To obey.

"Not yet. Not like that," I whisper. I feel her small hand at my cock and slap it away.

"No."

I walk behind her. I feel my cock magnetically pulling me towards her. I kneel behind her. I know she can see my cock between her legs. I know it's all that exists in the world for her.

I know how much she wants it.

I bring both of my hands to her hips and hold onto them like handles. I feel my thumbs slide perfectly into the dimples of her back.

"Stay still," I say and hear her cry even as she nods like an obedient dog.

I stare at her spread thighs. I stare at the wet that has consumed her. I bring my face to

that glorious space between her thighs and hold onto her hips tight as I inhale heaven.

"Ahhh . . . AHHH . . . your tongue . . . your tongue . . .," she babbles.

I drink so deep of the scent of her. I fill myself with it. I leave nothing for anyone else. I feel her pushing with all her strength back against my mouth. I let my tongue push against the entrance to her pussy through her pants. I feel her wriggle and squirm and thrust and hump against me.

I sink my teeth hard into her thigh. Hard enough to mark her. Hard enough to remind her she is mine.

I push against the back of her knees, bring her to the ground in front of me like a doe. I look at her face in the mirror. For the first time in my life I see the look of a woman truly desperate to be fucked.

I let the head of my cock nestle itself between her legs, only that thin spandex and those thin little panties keeping me from plunging deeply into her.

She grunts as she pushes herself back against me. I feel the material of her tights stretch so thin as the head of my cock pushes its way just so barely inside her.

I bring my hands to the waistband of her pants. I hook my fingers. 


"Yes, yes, yes," she babbles as she looks at me with absolute submission in the mirror. I let an evil smile cross my lips as I shake my head no and leave her pants on.

"PLEASE," she begs. "PLEASE" and the sound of her surrender fills every inch of the room.

My hands tease up her sides. I pull her back hard against me by the straps of her lemon-yellow yoga top, my fingers tangled in the web of straps. I feel agony tremble through her as those damned pants stop her again. I feel the nuclear heat of her pussy as it tries so desperately to consume my cock.

I pull her by the straps of her top so she's standing on her knees. I roughly pull the top up and over her head until her glorious tits are finally free.

"Look at yourself," I whisper in her ear.

And like always, like she can't even conceive of the idea she had a choice, she obeys.

We make quite the picture. Me, large, hairy, naked. I'm so much bigger than her she seems like she would almost fit inside me like a Russian Nesting Doll.

The Beast In The Mirror kneels behind her with a vicious smirk on his face. My right hand rests lightly on The Girl In Pink's throat, holding her upright as her legs tremble and flex against her will. Her darker skin creates astonishing contrast with the paleness of mine.

The Girl In Pink is naked now except for her tights. Her breasts stand out large and firm with small brown nipples longing so badly to be licked. My cock is nestled between her legs now, poking out lewdly in front of her like she has a cock of her own. Her hips are moving almost imperceptibly back and forth, back and forth, tilting on autopilot with her need.

I scan the room and realize no one is pretending to do yoga anymore. Mandy is standing against the wall by the door with fire in her eyes, her right hand plunged down the front of her pants, her hips shifting, her fingers dancing.

Black Sabbath T-Shirt sits on his knees staring with eyes so wide you'd swear he's just been abducted by aliens.

The Soccer Mom I'd ejected from her mat seems confused and tortured. She starts to walk back towards us, stops herself, walks away, follows the cycle again.

The whole room is nothing but sweat and sex. Two guys near the back are making out.

An older man in amazing shape is openly masturbating. Two women in their thirties are on the ground in a beautiful 69.

And everyone else is watching The Girl In Pink. 


I feel her clever little fingers tickle the head of my cock. She wraps her small hand around it and pulls upwards to maximize pressure against her pussy and her clit.

Her right hand dashes to the waistband of her pants. She pushes halfway down her right hip before the pressure on her throat stops her cold.

"No," I say so simply she knows there was no point arguing. "No, you haven't earned it yet."

That look of defeat again in her eyes. That look of being so close to what she's needed for so many years and being denied.

"Be a good slut and fuck yourself on my cock," I growl in her ear while using my free hand to maul her left breast.

Suddenly she freezes and that spark comes back so dimly in her eyes. "I'm not a . . . I'm not a slut," she says like she's trying to convince herself.

I increase the pressure on her throat. I flick my left thumb against her engorged nipple and listen to her squeak. I grab her nipple between my thumb and index finger, sink my teeth into the meat of her shoulder and squeeze hard.

"AHHH, STOP, AHH," she yells as she thrashes and bucks against me. Her hand claws against my grip on her throat.

She must not want to get away that much as she keeps her right hand on my cock, pulling upwards, rubbing me against her clit and sopping pussy as she thrashes.

I let go of her nipple. I watch her continue to thrust her hips back and forth against the shaft of my cock. Her eyes are closed. Her face has a look of intense concentration. I bring my hand to her pelvis. I hold her hips so agonizingly still.

"Open your eyes," I say.

"So close. Please, so close." My strong fingers squeeze her nipple. Her eyes fly open.

"No, no. Please." 


"Don't move. Don't close your eyes. Look at yourself, what do you see?"

I watch her face as she takes in the scene. I watch as she traces the outline of herself in the mirror. I feel her hips push slightly against me as she stares at my hard cock pushing out from between her thighs. I see her drink in her taught nipples, the flush on her chest.

"I see a slut," she whispers in such delectable defeat. "Good girl," I say and feel her shiver at the words.

I bring my left hand just below her belly button. I push slowly down into her pants. I dig my finger under her panties (lace, it felt like).

"Don't move," I whisper again as I cup her pussy with my palm.

"Please. Please," she moans at the skin to skin contact. "Please, just for a second. Please."

She tries to grabs my arm and tries to pull my fingers into her but again, she fails. I pull my hand out of her pants and hear the strong elastic snap against her belly.

I bring my soaked hand in front of her. I can smell the sharp, delicious tang of her pussy.

"No, I don't like . . .," she tries to turn her head to escape but I'm much too strong. I bring my hand to her lips. I hold eye contact with her as her mouth opens. I see sudden disgusted delight in her eyes as she licks and sucks my fingers. I feel her squirm.

"What do you taste like?" I ask.

"I taste like . . . I taste like a slut," she says and I feel the bones go out of her somehow so

I truly am holding her up by the throat.

"And what are you?" I ask in my full voice. Feel the whole room watching, listening, wanting.

She takes a deep breath. She grinds her poor clit against my cock. She looks like she's going to cry.

"I'm a slut," she says with the same matter-of-fact tone you'd tell someone what time it is.

"Good girl," I say and feel her shiver at the compliment.

"Now be a good slut and fuck yourself on my cock," I say and release my hand from her throat.

At first she just stares at us in the mirror. She stares at the lemon-yellow yoga top in a pile in front of her. She stares at the hard nipples of her breasts. She stares at the deep stain of her yoga pants, a stain she knows will never come out. She knows she will never be able to wear those pants again without knowing what she did in them. What she admitted in them.

I feel her fingers lightly tickling my cock. I feel her delicious ass pressing back against my hips. I feel all the tension go out of her as her hips unhinge and she begins to grind and fuck herself against the hard shaft of my cock.

I use my hands to gently stroke her stomach, to tease her nipples, to grab her beautiful tits. I bring my right hand to the scruff of her neck and hold onto her like it's a leash as she bucks again and again against me.

I watch the slut in the mirror grind and thrash right there in front of everyone. I hear deep moans flowing out of her one after the other, endless and primal and impossible to deny. I watch her belly ring shake as her stomach muscles flutter and flex uncontrollably.

I feel the almost-agonizing burn of her tights-clad pussy against my cock and am thankful for the slick and ample juice of her as I feel myself both close and miles away from the edge.

I feel her back against my chest and my nipples. I feel her hand reach back to grab my ass, then feel the tickle on my neck as she uses her small fingers to pull my head towards her.

She tilts her head up and back. I stare into her green eyes and see surrender and worship and gratitude and hate. Her mouth becomes my world. I see her tongue dash out and wet her lips. I breathe her breath.

And we kiss.

I always say "a kiss is a conversation" and this conversation is vicious and agonizing and joyful and deep. I feel like I'm drinking in her femininity, her energy, her youth.

Our tongues dance, my heart pounds against her back.

And then she comes and I realize just how much she had still been holding back.

Her eyes close tight. Her hips, roll and buck. Her hands fly like birds unable to decide where to land. They dart ahead of her like she's reaching for the ground. They flitter to her own mouth before realizing she may bite them off, they dash to the back of my head to try to drown me in her orgasm. Finally they land behind her, gripping the strong meat of my ass, leaving little half-moon gouges in my flesh as she digs her nails so hard into me.

The noise she lets out isn't a "scream." It isn't a moan. It isn't a shout or a yell.

It's a prayer. A prayer of gratitude and astonishment and regret. It's a prayer of so much anxiety and self loathing and shame fleeing her body like a ghost. It's a prayer of finally, finally realizing what her body is for. I hold on tight as she rides me and imagine what it will be like when I fuck her for real. I feel masculine and powerful and alive. I . . .

"GUHHHH! Oh my god. Please, Please. I can't . . .I . . . GUH! AHH! AHH!!"


I feel a cold pain in the back of my head like an icepick being driven into my brain. My eyes fly open and I squint painfully at the light. I was on my mat. My shorts were still on. The Girl In Pink was all the way across the room. What the hell . . .?

"Tessa?? Tessa??" yoga-teacher Mandy yelled as she bolted across the room. "Cathy, call a doctor. Call an ambulance," she yelled to the woman nearest the door as she descended like a protective mama bird.

"Tessa? Tessa, it's OK. We're getting help, Tessa. Can you hear me?" Mandy frantically asked. But either Tessa couldn't answer or Tessa didn't care.

Tessa was writhing on the floor like an animal. Tessa's legs were spread wide. Her pink yoga tights were soaked so deep as to be almost red. Her ass quivered and clenched and squeezed. Her hips thrust at the air above her. Her back muscles flexed and spasmed uncontrollably. She thrashed about on the floor like she was having a seizure. Like she was demonically possessed. Like she finally, finally really knew what an orgasm could be.

What the fuck just happened? Was that a fucking DREAM or . . .? Was I just fantasizing or...? Whywasshe...?

I stared around the room and felt eyes crawling towards me. Black Sabbath T-Shirt stared at me with some kind of confused awe like he'd just met Ozzy Ozbourne and wanted an autographed bat. The soccer mom had that same confusion as in "The event," stuck somewhere between coming over to me and fleeing for her life. Mandy locked eyes with me as she cradled Tessa's happy, boneless body and her eyes spoke volumes of accusation and disgust and hate.

And I realized so suddenly and with so much guilt that somehow I'd done this to her. That somehow she'd felt everything I . . . That my "fantasies" had humiliated this poor girl. That I'd destroyed her.

I watched the end of Tessa's orgasm. I watched her hug Mandy tight and whisper something in her ear.

And as much as I hated myself for it, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.