At the front of the room stood a young woman in her mid-twenties, stripped bare. Not just without clothes, but emotionally naked and exposed. Her hair was cropped short, and with the exception of her eyebrows, she was completely shaved. No jewelry, and no emotional defenses. Today, like every other day in which she stood here, she willingly exposed herself to the couples who watched her. She would say it was in spite of her humiliation, but secretly she knew it was
because
of it. It was her addiction: she needed it like a junkie. Because of her humiliation she became aroused; aroused in a way that was the key to her success.
Standing in Mountain pose, she raised her hands above her head in prayer. "Please watch me and then follow," she directed, staring at the class, knowing the words meant something very different to them than they did to her. She proceeded through the first Sun Salutation and then asked them to follow, turning sideways to model the flow.
The class was also naked, couples moving through the flow, breasts swinging, penises and ball-sacs flopping, but as exposed as they were, they didn't feel their exposure nearly as intensely as the young woman.
It was a tight balancing act: how far to let herself get aroused even as she let her thoughts, her "monkey-mind" quiet. If you happened to be in the front, you might notice a familiar aroma, the fragrance of a woman in heat, and if the light was right you might catch a glint of moisture on her naked labia. But whether you smelled her musk or not, her pheromones are already shifting your senses, your emotions and your arousal. For some, their eyes were drawn to a small tattoo at the crease of the woman's thigh and vagina. If her naked lips weren't enough to catch your attention, the small figure, airbrushed with colors both bright and subtle certainly would.
From her station outside the room, Charlie studied the impact of the young woman's arousal on the group. The men, flaccid or shrunk when they first walked in, were starting to extend, a few beginning to swell. The women's reactions were more difficult to see. From her perch, Charlie couldn't smell the young woman's musk (that had to wait for later), but seeing her classes filled to capacity, she smelled money, and for Charlie, that was almost more of a turn-on than sex.
*-*-*-*
Stupid stupid stupid
.
You're not stupid. You just take chances.
The voices bickered in her head as she tried to find John through the fog of the Jacuzzi.
Why am I here? Where is he? He
promised
me he'd stay nearby.
She caught a glimpse of him, or maybe not, chatting up a pretty girl across the courtyard.
Looking around the pool she shook her head.
They're so much older than me! What am I doing here?
What she was doing was tagging along with her flirt of a boyfriend who left her in the pool wearing the skimpiest bikini she owned, sitting with six other complete strangers. She took a sip from her Margarita.
At least the drinks are free. FUCK!
Drunken laughter caught her attention. Two women, in their late 20s, were clearly toasted, laughing at some stupid joke.
At least it's not about me.
"So," a thirty-ish man sitting next to her started up a conversation. "I'm Greg." He reached out a hand to shake hers.
"Emmy," she said so quietly she could barely hear it herself. She looked down into the water.
"Emily? Nice to meet you."
Emmy shook her head. "Sorry, I'm being stupid. Emmy." She said it loud enough for the women across the pool to stop and look over.
Stupid! I'm so stupid!
Greg laughed. "Still nice to meet you. How are you related to this group?" He stretched his hand along the tile behind her, letting his body bob and float at the surface.
She looked at him quickly and then down again. "John. He's a friend of Julie's?"
Greg laughed again, looking across the courtyard. "Oh yeah. John. We like John a lot." He looked at her, amused and slightly patronizing.
"I'm sorry?" She wanted to get up and leave, feeling he had been rude, but true to her nature, she was too shy to make a move. Instead she looked away.
"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I apologize. Julie is my fiancé and John and she have known each other..." he paused, staring at her and considering his next words, "a long time."
Emny blushed and looked down again, taking a long draw from her glass.
I'll just get snockered and pass out. Fuck.
"WHAT?!!!"
Emmy looked up at the two women. They'd started a mock fight, splashing water across the pool. She pulled her drink back to keep it from getting doused, thankful there wasn't much left.
Maybe it would be a good time to get it refreshed.
"You do not!"
The two were interrupted by their dates asking what the fuss was about.
"Diane
claims
her breasts are larger than mine. But I know for a fact what her bra size is, and it's much smaller than what I order."
Diane's smile showed almost all of her teeth. "That's no way to tell, Anna! I never wear a bra as large as I need. Why keep these beauties covered?" She winked at the guy next to her.
"I suppose," he said, looking at the two of them, "we'll need to judge for ourselves. Tom and I are not objective, but the rest of these good people certainly are." He waved dramatically to the other couples in the pool.
Shit. Time to get that drink. What am I doing here??? I'm so stupid.
She looked at Greg and smiled, turning to climb out of the pool.
"Leaving? Right when it was getting interesting?" He stared at her nearly naked body, the bikini just four triangles he could hold in one hand.
Smiling as bravely as she could, she blurted out, "I'm going to find John and get my drink freshened."
As she walked past the pool, the two guys had removed Diane's and Anna's tops, their breast spilling out. Emmy barely looked, embarrassed and a little envious. Her breasts were not her favorite feature: so small and unremarkable. She liked a lot about her body, but there was no way she was going topless when figures like that were in the pool. The laughter crested and quieted as the group began the mock trial.
She found a bar and filled her glass from a pitcher, looking around for John.
Why am I at this party?
She was at this party because John had asked her to come; because he and she had been dating for six months, and because he insisted she not stay home when "anyone who is anyone in the conference event business" was going to be there.
Great. And then he wants me to come as a booth babe?
That's how it felt dressed this way. She stole a glance down at her body, knowing in the darkness around the courtyard nobody could really see her. But she knew. She knew she hadn't shaved as close as she needed to for this bikini. She knew there was probably a thicket of pubic hair poking out the sides. She was certain somebody could see her tattoo. She loved that tattoo, but it wasn't supposed to be visible in public!
Stupid stupid stupid!
For five years she'd been conflicted about having gotten it at all.
Eighteen, sitting with her friends at her house. Her parents gone for a week and the girls had brought booze. Sharon insisted they all get tattoos overriding Emmy's protests; off they went to a 24 hour parlor. They had fake IDs, even though it was legal at 16, just in case. Emmy knew it was a stupid thing to be doing, but she was so drunk! Still, she hung back, waiting and watching her friends, pretending to be studying the different art. Sharon, of course, demanded they all get something close to their "vags," as she called it, which Willow immediately seconded. Emmy just clammed up, too embarrassed to say anything and not willing to stand up and say 'No!' When the two girls offered her a swig from the whiskey, she silently accepted it, even though she knew she'd already had too much.
Thankfully the artist was a woman, as Emmy watched first Sharon and then Willow strip from the waist down, slide up on the table and spread their legs. She'd seen them naked in the locker room, but not on display like this. It caused a strange reaction. She felt an aching in her gut, like she was getting her period, and then a tingling further down, not quite at her clit. She couldn't stop staring as the artist laid out the design, carefully moving her friends' lips to the side when she needed to.
When it came time for her, she protested, saying she wasn't ready. Sharon handed her the bottle of spirits and told her to "get some Dutch courage;" Emmy and no idea what she was talking about, but took a long swallow, entertaining all three of them with her "swallowless swallow." As the artist prepared the table and sterilized her tools, her girlfriends kept up the pressure.
"Whadya choose?" Sharon looked at the plates Emmy had stopped on. "Oh! That's perfect!" She pointed to an orange fox with a gradient of color from saturated to light brown on its belly, from its pointed head to its tail, long and bushy, its snout and eyes so realistic. They loved it.
Sharon leaned over and whispered in the artist's ear, smiling conspiratorially while looking at Emmy.
"Please...don't..." she could barely get the words out, but when she said them, the aching and tingling
increased
. She closed her eyes, the room beginning to spin.
The artist looked at the three of them and shrugged suggesting it was up to her, pointing her shoulder at Emmy, leaning back against the table her arms folded, waiting.
"Here," Sharon said, taking charge. "Let's get you up on the table, regardless of what you choose. You look like you need to lie down." Willow and she each took an arm and guided her, turning her around and helping her slide up and back. She was so drunk by then, she couldn't resist, and the thought of resisting only made her more tingly. She watched as Sharon undid her jeans, goaded her to lift up her ass, and the two of them slid them, and her underwear down and off.
