Namaste Yoga Pt. 02

She sipped the last of her drink and stared across the courtyard at the other partiers. The music, barely more than a heavy bass thumping through her thighs, was not quite in rhythm with the dancers. She blinked trying to get them on beat and then shook her head confused.

"Are you okay?" It was John's voice and she couldn't quite figure out where she was. The music was much fainter. She was lying down on something soft...vinyl covered...a lounge cover? His face kept going out of focus. She moaned what she hoped was "No," and lost his face again.

"Dude."

She couldn't make out who was talking. John? Greg? She felt the vinyl cushion with her fingertips, moving her hands up to her head, moaning.

"Emmy! What's up? What's going on?"

She slowly opened her eyes, hoping the spinning would stop and focused on John's face, leaning over her. She looked down to see his cock, half-erect just next to her cheek, when the vertigo hit. She closed her eyes, slowly moving her head back.

"Fuck," she moaned, fighting nausea. "Too much fucking Tequila..." At least, that's what she had hoped they heard (he? heard. She wasn't certain if anyone was with the two of them).

"S'okay." John this time. "Just hang out for a few minutes. Greg's right here and he'll stay with you to make sure you're okay."

She moaned again, wishing John wouldn't leave her, wanting to just go. But she knew she couldn't move without fainting or getting sick, so she just lay there, staring at a wooden ceiling, the smell of cedar suddenly hitting her senses.

"Where?" It was all she could muster.

"The sauna. Nobody will come in tonight, it says closed, and it's out of order. You really got slammed, eh?"

His voice was coming from over her head, outside of her field of vision. She moaned nodding her head and remembered, too late, that moving anything was probably stupid.

"We had to take your suit off, getting you hear. Sorry."

Emmy panicked and jerked to look down at her body, nausea quickly following. She felt her stomach clench and willed herself not to throw up. Stupid stupid stupid! Naked, alone with a stranger, in a closet nobody knew about. She moaned and felt tears overflowing onto her cheeks, leaking into her ears.

"Shhh...it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. John went to get Julie. She'll find something for you to wear."

His words and tone were calming; his fingers slowly brushed through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp.

She wanted to protest, but it felt perfect, the sensations traveling down her spine, across her shoulders. She relaxed, in spite of her embarrassment, focusing on her breathing.

"I think you would have won that contest, by the way." His fingers massaged her temples and she let her jaw drop open. "Shhh...don't try and answer. Just relax. The contest. Between Anna and Diane. If I were judging, you'd have won. Your body is perfect."

She felt her pulse quicken, realizing she was defenseless, but his words and tone, not to mention his fingers, continued to work their magic.

"When you collapsed next to me, I apologize, but my hand brushed against your breast and your top just slipped off."

She didn't remember a thing, but felt his fingers brushing against her breast, lightly stroking her nipple. No! Fuck! No! But the other voice was silent, waiting. She felt her stomach loosen, the cramping shifting to something else, something familiar, something...good. That part of her didn't dare move, but the other, it was screaming to do something. She lay there, her breathing deepening.

"And then when you got a little sick, we had to take your bottoms off." He moved his fingers gently. "John's washing them right now."

She didn't taste or smell anything, so she wasn't convinced. She felt his thigh, and probably his dick, lightly bump against her head as his other hand drifted down to stroke her other breast. She moaned, part protest, part desire and was mortified to realize she had lifted her chest up to meet his fingers. She could smell her musk and moaned again. Why do I get aroused like this? FUCK!!

"Shhh...it's okay. Julie taught me this. It feels nice, right?" His words, his voice, so calming. She settled back down. "I'm going to lightly stroke your stomach. Keep breathing. It will help. Promise."

As his fingers traveled down to her navel, she focused on her breath, knowing he was staring at her nakedness, her thin tufts of pubic hair, her lips...oh god! Were they swelling? Can he smell me? And the fox. She moaned as his fingers reached her triangle and danced across from one hip to the next. Her stomach did a small flip-flop, nausea releasing to something else. He placed the flat of his hand on her skin, the heel lightly pushing into her intestines. She felt, and heard, the gurgles as he calmly massaged her.

"I think it's better now, right?" He didn't move his hands, but lightened the pressure.

She slowly opened her eyes to see his face looking down at her, and shifted her chin to look down at her body. His fingers were fractions of an inch from stroking her clit, just hovering above it; the heels of his hands still resting just below her navel.

She licked her lips and nodded, slowly. Miraculously, she didn't feel sick. "Yes," she whispered hoarsely.

He paused and stared at her, absorbed. His hands barely moved. "John mentioned..."

She looked up at his face, not daring move. Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck?

"He mentioned someone he'd been dating. He never said a name..." Greg paused, starting at her. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask." Another pause. "He said that...she only got off if she begged for it..." He paused again and stared at her, his dark brown eyes, barely visible in the dimly lit sauna.

She shivered, wanting to brush his hands away, wanting to stand up and stalk out of there, but her brain was still foggy. "Nooo." It sounded like a sigh to her when what she had really wanted was for it to end in six exclamation marks.

"He said she needed to...humiliate herself...his words, I swear. Was he talking about you?" He stopped, his fingers just barely moving above her slit. "It was, wasn't it?"

She barely shook her head, panicking, her heart thumping. The voices in her head went silent, even as she felt the arousal building beneath his fingers. She struggled not to lift her pelvis and push into him. She could feel her face burn as moisture began to leak from between her legs.

"Noooo!" She moaned but stayed completely still.

He stared, not moving except to breathe, as if weighing his options. "Tell me," he urged her quietly, but without question. "Tell me what you want me to do." He inhaled, and she knew he could smell her.

NoNoNO!

"Fuckkkkk," she breathed out, pushing her hips up against his hand.

"Tell me," he said gently, resting his arms on her stomach, his elbows against the bottoms of her breasts. Bending over her, his face was in shadow, his head a silhouette against the warm wood behind him.

"But, John...Julie..." She looked to the side, testing how awful it would be to move.

"How sweet," he said, his tone shifting from calming to...something else. Sarcasm? She couldn't put a word to it. "Lying out here, naked, your legs spread open for me, and you're worrying about my fiancé?" He paused again, his fingers just barely above her swelling lips. "What were you thinking when you dragged me in here?"

She shook her head, her eyes closed, forcing tears. "Noooo, none of that's true!" She said it quietly, hoping he wouldn't rape her.

"I'm not going to do anything you don't want, Emmy. You are that girl, right? The one John told me about?" His fingers lightly touched her pubic hair, pulsing. "Just tell me the truth."

She could feel her stomach getting warm under his wrists, her heartbeat like a countdown clock. He wouldn't let her go unless she answered. He would tease her until she said something.

"Yes," she whispered, not daring to look at him.

"What? I couldn't hear you. Tell me again."

"Yes!" She said it louder, the arousal just about to turn a corner. If he kept asking her she would do it...wherever he was pushing her to go.

"Look at me, Emmy." He said it softly, gently.

She looked up, his face still hidden by backlight, her tears putting everything out of focus.

"What do you want, Emmy?" His fingers moved, just so.

"Please," she begged, staring at him. "Please don't..." She could feel her face reddening, her pussy lips thickening and fluid dripping across her puckered opening below.

He raised his eyebrows, a shift she could barely see. He breathed softly, his fingers whispering over her hairs.

He wouldn't stop. She knew it. She didn't want him to. John only did it once, so long ago, and he wouldn't do it again. She was too shy to ask him, wishing he understood how important it was to her. Greg was here. He was doing it.

But he has a fiancé!!

That voice was outvoted by her growing arousal. She could smell her musk. "Please," she breathed. "Please..." She imagined he could smell her, that she was turning him on by her defenselessness.

He waited, breathing.

Somewhere, deep insider her, she felt a switch flip. Just like that. She knew, right then, that this was a chance to feel that way, the way she needed. He was willing. He was here. She would kick herself tomorrow...kick herself for not doing it, and kick herself for doing it. She lost either way. The voices were a mumble, but her gut was on fire.

"Please, stroke me," she begged, pushing her pubis up against his hands. "Use your fingers to fuck my pussy, please." The struggle was over and she had given herself up to him.

He shifted, moving his legs on either side of her head, his knee barely resting on the cedar planked bench. In this new position, his cock, erect and angry, was parallel to her nose. She shuddered, knowing what he expected. Before she could react, his hands moved to the top of her thighs, spreading her legs wider, pushing her left calf off the bench to rest her foot on the seat below.

"What else do you want?" He settled his knees back a little, lowering his cock head to touch her nose. "John said you give pretty good head. But you'll have to ask me."

She could feel her face redden even further, but didn't protest, tipping her head back and opening her mouth to let him push into her. She felt his fingers peeling her lips apart, letting loose a small blob of fluid, moments later her aroma mixing with his. "Please fuck my throat," she said quietly. And when he didn't move, "With your hard cock, Greg." She pushed her lips against his swollen head, lining up her throat as best she could imagine. It was what she wanted, the situation demanded it of her.

She remembered the first time she'd discovered her gag reflex and how to control it. It was one of the reasons she wouldn't let herself throw up. It was in high school, in the cafeteria. A race. Who could drink their milk fastest? She'd never thought about it before, but just did what she always had: opened her throat and let the fluid go down. It wasn't even a close contest. One of the guys who'd been watching came up to her afterward, and with the pretense of flattery, eventually got around to suggesting she apply that talent in more interesting ways.

It took him two months to get what he wanted: in the back of his car he slowly impaled his cock down her throat, coaching her, complementing her, forcing her, until he had her nose pressed firmly against his pubic bone.

Greg's cock slowly slid between her lips, gliding along her tongue even as his fingers began to probe her slick folds. She could hear the voice of protest rising above and being drowned out by her arousal. His cock slid in further, down her throat until he had bottomed out inside her.

This was the last thing she'd expected to be doing, especially after feeling so sick just minutes before. But her stomach was fine...fine enough at least. As Greg began to slide in and out of her throat, she concentrated on breathing, on his fingers lighting up her insides and on the saltiness of his shaft and then his cockhead moving across her tongue.

"Hold on," she stopped him to catch her breath. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." She sucked in air and exhaled.

"Ask me again, Emmy. Ask me to do what I'm doing to you."

She was staring at his pubic hair, dimly lit by the orange bulb on the ceiling, his balls tight against the base of his shaft. His cock, covered in her spit, rested on her nostrils, pulsing with his heartbeat.

"Fuck my throat, Greg," she begged a little, whimpering, "while you finger fuck my wet pussy." She felt ashamed and the feeling increased her arousal. "Slide your hard cock down to touch your fingers shoved up inside me, Greg. Make me beg for it. Make me beg to have you cum down my throat."

She heard her voice, the way it rose and fell, her begging, her need, her humiliation. She would never get this from John and she realized that relationship was over. She needed this from her lovers, but she knew Greg would never be her lover. She grabbed the opportunity while it was available. That's the way she looked at it, even as his cock penetrated her again, forcing a stomach clenching moan, watching the juncture of his penis and pubis coming toward her.

When John came back, Greg's cock was still buried in her throat, his fingers thrust up inside her. She'd known he'd arrived when the wash of cool air hit her exposed skin; he didn't say a word and Greg didn't miss a beat.

Having him as an audience only added to her humiliation, pushing her further over the edge. She grunted as Greg pushed deeply into both ends of her, her climax building. She could hear him saying something but couldn't focus.

"Fuck, she's a little cocksucker, isn't she John? Just like you said. Fuck, fuck, fuck." He moved in time to the words. "She begged me for it. What a hot lay. Oh god, I'm going to blast into that hot little throat..."

She could feel him thickening, knowing he was close and she pushed herself against his fingers, begging with her pussy to cum. As his seed burned down her throat, she felt her own orgasm cresting and she shouted, her words muffled by his cock.

"Nice," John said, sitting on the bench nearby. "I've got her suit. Julie will be here soon."

Greg moved, pulling his fingers out and then sliding his cock across her nose and forehead, painting her face with their juices.

"It's pretty obvious, eh?" Greg sat back near her head, pulling up his trunks.

"Fuck, yeah. It smells like I'm inside her cunt."

"You probably should get dressed, Emmy." Greg said it as if she would be in trouble with Julie, and then she remembered how he would tell the story. Fuck, fuck FUCK!!

In that moment, she decided this was the last party, the last date with John, the last week in the business. It was time to leave. Not just the sauna, but everything. She'd made plans, even if she wasn't convinced she'd go through with them, but this made the decision for her. John was an asshole; he'd practically pimped her out, the coward! He could have had this, she mentally opened her arms, if he just made me do it like Greg seemed able to do.

She shook her head and slowly sat up, smelling her musk and Greg's cum on her face, in the air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John's erection pushing against his trunks and silently cursed him. Not tonight, fucker. Not. Ever. Not looking at him, she took her suit and slipped it on, testing how sick she would feel if she moved any more quickly.

She'd made plans and now she was decided. Away from here, off to school. Figure out how to take advantage of her smarts and stop being taken advantage of. Booth babe. Assholes! I'll own your asses in a few years.