Namaste Yoga

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.

A small moan was as much as she could muster by way of protest and watched, detached as the artist stepped up to her with the fox image. "So," her tone sounded impatient to Emmy, "is this what you decided?" She nodded, looking over at her friends' enthusiastic smiles and rested her head against the pillow, too drunk to think, to drunk to protest, and as it turned out, too drunk to feel much of anything.

When she woke up at her house the next morning, she felt awful: a splitting headache, nausea and a burning pain near her pussy. Looking at herself in the mirror she cried out in shock: a beautifully rendered fox, its nose nuzzling up to the junction of her lips, its tail flowing down along her thigh.

It's beautiful.

You idiot! Stupid! What will your parents say?

She cried, looking at the permanent mark she'd made on herself, even as she secretly thought it was so pretty. At least she hoped it would be pretty, once the redness and swelling went down. She couldn't wear panties all day that day: the elastic was too harsh against the wound.

When she finally called Sharon, she had intended to yell at her, she was so angry. But as usual, Sharon immediately took control of the conversation telling her she'd definitely gotten the best of the three. "You were so wasted, Em. Shit! That woman wanted to charge $300 for that thing, and I thought you were going to start crying! What? You don't remember? Fuck. She was so going to take advantage of you. But we negotiated it down, and I know we had said we'd only spend a $100 each, so, Willow and I pitched in. It's okay. It's worth it. Fuck, the guys are going to go wild when they see it. So fucking cute!"

But then, after it healed, when she wore a bathing suit, the fucking tail stuck out and it was just so

stupid!!!

She didn't mind when it was secret and when a guy peeled her jeans down to discover it, but she felt so...cheap...when she was sunbathing or had on a suit. Any time she tried one on, if it was cute, she didn't feel comfortable wearing it. And now, here she was, the fox's tail and most of its back was visible, like a sign post pointing to her pussy for anyone who looked at her legs.

She sighed and swallowed half of the drink, looking for John. Seeing him sitting next to yet another pretty girl, she crossed the courtyard, loaded for bear.

No one would ever accuse Emmy of being assertive. She was so shy most of the time that people often forgot she was in the room. But after a couple of drinks, and abandoned in a party of strangers, she lost her inhibitions.

"Hey sweety," he looked up with a smile as she approached. "Gerry, this is Emmy. Emmy, Gerry. You two have a lot in common." He reached out his arm to embrace her, making a space on the bench. True to form, he found some excuse for how the two women should be the best of friends and sat back letting the chemistry bubble.

After a few minutes, Gerry excused herself, letting Emmy turn her full annoyance at him. "

You

promised

you wouldn't leave me!"

She hissed.

He reached around and kissed her, whispering in her ear.

"You're such an asshole," she whispered. But the feeling had passed and she couldn't maintain it. It just wasn't in her nature. And his hands, rubbing her shoulders and down her back disarmed her. She felt herself melting.

"They're skinny-dipping," she whispered, sitting back and looking at him.

"At the pool?" He looked over, but couldn't see anything through the underlit vapors rising across the courtyard. He looked back at her. "You didn't want to join in?"

She slapped him, but her arm felt heavy.

Fuck. I've drunk too much.

"Don't be a dick..." She heard her words and thought they might be slurred.

"But I thought you liked the hot tub. At least you do at my place..."

She argued with him, loudly and stupidly, or so it sounded to her, that that was different. It was private. This was with

strangers!

"Let's go get that freshened," pointing to her drink. He helped her up.

NO. This is stupid. Stupid!

The two voices argued in her head as they had since...forever. The image of her and Sharon and Willow stripping on the beach and painting themselves, only to learn one of the guys had taken a snapshot of them.

Stupid!!!

She had been so embarrassed; she begged him to destroy it...but she wasn't sure he had.

And now that same voice popped up again. Through the fog of the alcohol she knew it meant something terrible was about to happen.

But just like on the beach, or the memory of getting the tattoo, the feeling inside her gut, the tingling, the

arousal

of being naked with her girlfriends, of saying sweet-fuck-all and just enjoying the sun and sand and water. And the way Willow had touched her. Thankfully the guy hadn't caught

that

. She would have been mortified. It was bad enough Sharon kissed her and watched as Willow spread her legs and ran her fingers up...up...

"What's that smell," Sharon asked, pulling her face back from Emmy's cheek.

"I know," Willow joined in, her hands softly stroking Emmy's inner thighs. She moved her nose between Sharon's legs, sniffing at her bikini. "Mmm, you smell nice," she smiled, "but not what I'm smelling...here." She shifted her nose between Emmy's legs and inhaled deeply. "Mmmm, Emmy, you smell soooo nice."

Emmy could feel the heat rising in her face and told them to stop it, her hands pushing at Willow's head.

Sharon shifted down on the towel, her face even with the top of Emmy's bikini. "Whoa," she laughed. "Do I smell that good?" She looked down at Willow, eyes raised. "Let's get these off."

Giggling, the two girls pulled Emmy's bottoms off, in spite of her protests, exposing her in public for the first time in her life (not counting the tattoo artist, of course! That wasn't public, really, and the locker room didn't count. This was different). At 18, still a virgin, she hadn't had a lot of experience beyond fumbling around in cars, but being stripped in public by her best friends had not been on her to-do list when they agreed to go to the beach.

"Oh, relax, Emmy." Sharon chided her. "Here. I'll join you." She rose up onto her knees and pulled her bottoms down, exposing her dark bush and thick lips.

Laughing, Willow followed suit (

so to speak,

Emmy thought

, alarmed and aroused)

, taking off her top and Sharon's as well.

Oh god, no. They have so much nicer breasts than I do.

She could feel her blush deepening when they untied her top and took it off. Not that she didn't compare her pussy to theirs as well: her wispy light brown curls were nothing next to Sharon's dark thatch or Willow's thick straight blond triangle. For some reason, that didn't matter so much; not like her breasts: so small compared to the others.

Which, in fact, wasn't true. Emmy's breasts were easily larger than Willow's.

Of course, that's not saying much, since Willow's were a small handful just rising from her chest

. Emmy's, in spite of her self-criticism, were a lovely B-cup. Even though she bought the right sized bra -- a 32B -- she was always self-conscious and making critical remarks about herself.

Having stripped completely, the two young women returned to teasing her, Willow sliding her fingers along Emmy's thigh, Sharon sliding her body up until her mouth was just at Emmy's cheek. "Kiss me," she whispered, taking her hand to turn Emmy's bright red face toward her.

"Whatever you're doing, Sharon, keep it up. She smells soooo goooood." Willow's fingers reached Emmy's slit, lightly sliding along it...

...she shivered, the image dissolving as John handed her a fresh drink.

"C'mon. Let's see what they're up to."

She took another long swallow and let him guide her back to the pool, the memory of her beach escapade adding to her arousal. The jets were on; the turbulence breaking the surface into a foamy mess. The two women were still there, but now they had removed their bottoms as well, the top of Diane's pubic triangle peeking above the foam. Anna appeared to be shaved, but Emmy didn't want to be caught staring. Looking around she saw the guys had removed their trunks, their penises exposed and hidden as the water shifted. Greg looked up and smiled, inviting them both to join them.

"I think Emmy needs a little encouragement," John said, holding her shoulders.

"No," she hissed. "Don't. Really. I..." But she could feel that tingling and looked at the guys staring at her, knowing they were interested in seeing her naked. She looked up at John, pleading with her eyes, but he was staring at the couples in the pool nodding and grinning.

"You know you hate having a swim suit on, Emmy! Say it!" His hands massaged her collarbone, his thumbs pressing into her spine.

It felt so good. She closed her eyes, letting his fingers press into her. She could feel her nipples harden at the thought of being stripped, of submitting to his wish, of being exposed to these strangers.

He whispered in her ear. "I won't do it unless you ask, Emmy. You know that." His fingers kept digging into her muscles, sending bolts of pleasure down to her core.

"No," she mewled, so quietly she wasn't sure he could hear. "Please John. No." But she hadn't convinced herself. She could feel moisture building inside, a warm, thicker moisture than what the cotton pad in her bikini had absorbed from the pool.

Fuck. FUCK! Stupid!

And just like that, a dam burst. She blamed it on the third drink, or his fingers, or the image of Diane and Anna's breasts and Greg's and Tom's and the other guy's semi-erect penises poking above the water. Or the memory of her friends at the beach. All of that and more flashed through her brain.