Namaste Yoga Pt. 06

Emmy wasn't so out of it that she missed the irony: the first time she found herself alone with Greg was at a party with hundreds of people. Julie and he had invited her to some grand opening of something or other, all related to one of Julie's clients. In a massive private penthouse downtown, food and drink passing by constantly and the non-stop movement of people throughout the apartment. So, technically, they were anything but alone, but there was absolutely nobody either of them knew and after Julie left them to go schmooze, they found an open pair of seats on the couch, letting the waitstaff find them.

She was burning to ask him; as usual. She didn't know they'd have this opportunity, but it was a question she had to have answered. After two glasses of champagne, she felt the words begin to bubble up.

"Hey, Greg," she began, trying not to look as stiff as she felt. "I've got a funny question for you."

He turned and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"Did you used to have a friend named John? John Corenzo?"

He blinked and nodded, surprised, but not showing any signs he might recognize her. "Yeah. You know John?"

She nodded. This was the moment: either let it drop or bring it to front. He obviously hadn't made a connection yet. "Yeah, I hung out with him for a little while a few years ago. What's up with him these days? I lost track."

Oblivious, Greg prattled on about whatever John was up to. Emmy couldn't have cared less, relieved that he had no recollection of their past encounter. But as he wound down his reminiscing, her relief turned to anger. How dare he? How dare he do that to me and not remember?!! And then she giggled at her stupid self-righteousness. What? It was so memorable he should have called you the next day and wanted more? What do you want? To confront him? To have him acknowledge that he forced himself on you?

But she knew that wasn't the case. She really had wanted it. He really had known she needed to beg for it. She was more angry with John, and herself, than with Greg. But she was irritated he couldn't remember what for her was one of the most intense encounters of her life. And, true to form, she felt herself moisten as the images came rushing back: being stripped, him finger-fucking her, his cock sliding down her open throat.

"So, how did you know John?"

She looked up from her drink and stared at him, not sure where to go with the conversation. She just shrugged and offered a response that closed the subject. She'd done it and she felt drained, unsatisfied if at least less anxious.

They had their regular brunch the next day. She came over with a fruit salad, the weather warm with a cool breeze. She'd worn a sun dress feeling free and easy.

"Whoa," Greg said, greeting her. "You really are doing something different."

She smiled and ignored him, knowing he wasn't being manipulative, just nice. When she got to the kitchen, she realized Julie wasn't around. "Hey! Where's Julie?"

He came in, headed to the sink to wash his hands. "She said she was going to an appointment this morning, and assured me she'd be back by now." He turned to dry his hands and bumped against her, his hands moving the material of her dress against her thigh. "Oh! Sorry."

She smiled and shrugged it off.

"Hey," he said softly. "I was thinking more about John last night after I got home."

She froze and tried to act natural.

"I think I know why you brought him up." His tone was gentle, inviting.

She turned to him eyebrows raised, trying not to speak, knowing she'd give herself away if she did.

"You...you were that girl, right?" His look was a mixture of concern, embarrassment and something else, something deeper...a longing.

She shivered, feeling her juices flowing and mentally chastising herself for her reaction. She blushed and looked away, nodding slightly.

"I...hmmm...I've...after that night, I wondered what happened to you..."

She looked back, his tone seeming to open up space between them.

"John said you practically disappeared. We never really talked about it...except..."

She knew what exception he was referring to: the one where John revealed her kink, her need to be forced, to beg. She could feel her eyes moisten and she looked away, unable to say anything that would make sense.

He reached over and rubbed her shoulder gently, concerned she might shrink away. "You asked me for it, right?" Almost a whisper. "I keep wondering if I raped you that night..."

She closed her eyes, a tear forced out to slide down her cheek and shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it.

His hand stayed on her shoulder and she could feel he had moved closer. "I...it was...I can't..." He didn't know how to even talk about it, but she wished he would try harder.

She wasn't about to help him. The anger at her own need, her stupidity at putting herself in these situations, and she realized, all of a sudden, that once again she was being stupid. "Where is Julie?" Her voice croaked as she looked at him again.

He didn't release his hand, or move away. Instead, he brought his other hand to her shoulder and stared at her, concern and that thing that had been buried beginning to surface. Predatory, smoldering. She couldn't stand it; she couldn't pull away.

"I'm surprised she's not back yet, frankly." His hands moved gently, pushing against her muscles.

NoNoNoNONONO! But that feeling in her stomach started up and she knew if he didn't put a stop to this, she wouldn't be able to.

"C'mon," he said, his voice light. "Let's go sit outside and wait for her."

Relief flooded through her. She didn't resist when he gently pulled on her shoulder, grabbing a glass and the bottle of wine as they left the kitchen.

"You've been holding this in this whole time?" He looked at her over the glass as he took a taste.

She looked away, finishing her own glass and pouring another. Why was she here? What was she doing??? She nodded.

"I've felt so guilty about that night..."

"No! Please..." She blurted out, immediately regretting it. He should feel guilty! For not trying to reach out to me! She smiled inwardly, knowing that wasn't in the least why he felt guilt.

Seeing her reaction to his confession, he sat back, thinking, his eyes burning, that need barely hidden.

She imagined the gears turning in his head and she felt sticky at the top of her thighs. If he kept going, she'd have to go to the bathroom and take off her panties. Or leave. She was certain he could smell her.

"Guilty?" She whispered, now wondering how he would answer.

His mouth pressed into a line. "Hmmm...," he paused, studying her, calculating. "Tell me."

It was a simple directive, but it started a chain reaction she couldn't control. She felt her pussy lips squish a little as she pressed her thighs together and took another swig from her glass trying to collect her thoughts.

"Guilty about...Julie?"

He laughed quietly. "No," he said flatly. "That's not what you need, is it? That's not how you need this to go. You need to tell me..." He pressed his lips together and sat forward. "Julie? You have no idea, do you?"

She wasn't sure how to answer that question, but his expression put her off balance: the wolf was out in force, barely hidden by a thin veneer of civility. She caught a whiff of her musk and blushed again.

"I mean, you spend enough time together. Surely she's told you about our relationship, right?"

Emmy looked down and then to the patio doors, completely confused and unprepared for where the conversation was going. She hoped Julie would be back and they could start the day properly.

He got up and pulled his chair closer to her, facing her, their knees almost touching. "So. As I understand it, I did you a favor that night, right? John tried to tell me, but I didn't get it. Just now, though...just now I totally get you. You know what you need to do, right?"

She shook her head, but she knew her protests were stupid. She should just get up and leave. Tell Julie she hadn't felt well. Get out of there. Before...before...but the images from the sauna rushed back and the images from other parties where she heard her voice, her pleas to do whatever they'd done. And now, the feeling of Yogi Jacob's cock, brushing against her cheek, his simple question, her response, her response, her response. Taking him between her lips. Knowing her body, her arousal had made him hard, helping him find relief.

Greg's knees touched hers and applied pressure outward. She looked at his face and then down at his legs to see his penis pushing against the placket of his shorts. She knew she was already telling him yes with her expression. A tickling at her thighs and the smell of her musk reminded her of how aroused she was becoming. The thought she was doing this to him only pushed her further. He nodded, his eyes locking on her, his voice softly urging her. "Go on...it's okay...tell me." His hands reaching to her knees but resting on his own, waiting.

She looked up sharply, disoriented. Julie could be home any time. What was he expecting? NoNoNONONO! And with each silent protest, she felt her lips thicken and her underwear get wetter.

"Please...no...Greg. please..." She looked away; she looked back at his fingers, knowing where they would be, wanting them to be there, knowing he would wait until she begged him. Thinking he might stop was stupid. It was a stupid hope. She didn't really want him to, did she? Shouldn't she be worried about what this would do to Julie? And how would she face her? But then, knowing what Julie had been doing with Yogi Jacob, Emmy no longer thought of her as an innocent.

"Why are you here, Emmy? Why have you been coming all these months?" He continued softly, his fingers barely touching her knees. He leaned in slightly. "Tell me. You want to. You know you do."

"No, I...Greg, I..." But the need to beg him, to take him was all she wanted to do.

The wolf was now the only presence in his face, calm and quiet, his eyes burning. "It's okay, Emmy. I can wait. This is a lot to process. But maybe next week. Or perhaps we can have a drink after work."

She shivered and saw herself alone with him, humiliated, stripped, exposed. Who are you? The voices started at each other, the one always yapping at her, the other, quiet for so long, seemed to wake up. Do it. It said. You love to watch what happens to them when you do it. But Julie! The other one balked. She'll hate you forever.

He stood up and she saw the bulge had gotten larger. She closed her eyes knowing it was only a matter of time before she begged him to slide his cock down her throat again. She felt the arousal growing and the guilt about Julie rising with it. Hearing him move the chair back, she slumped back into her chair and finished her wine in one swallow.

"Where you at?" Greg was holding his phone to his ear. "Okay, hmmm, shoot! Yeah, she's here," he turned to look at her, the wolf smiling. "Okay. We'll figure something out." Hanging up he returned to his chair. "Julie. She's running pretty late. She's sorry." His eyebrows raised, the question, the directive, hung between them. He noticed her empty glass and refilled it.

"You're worried about Julie." It wasn't a question. His fingers touched her naked knees. "Don't. She's a big girl. We have an...understanding."

That's what they all say! Don't believe him! Get up! Leave! Wait a sec. Let's see how this plays out. She knew how it was going to play out: her being stupid again and doing exactly what he expected her to do. The tingling in her groin increased, sparks flying into her gut. She looked at his face and looked away. "I...no...Greg. It's not right."

"What's not right? You needing to beg? But that can't be it," he pressed his fingers a little more against her knees. "Or is it?" He stared at her. "Hmmm," he pressed a little more. "You are going to beg me, but you still don't think that's right?"

She whimpered, the arousal licking higher up her spine. She could smell her cunt and knew he must be able to as well. She blushed, feeling liquid flowing into her underwear. She was soaking through her skirt. She felt the pressure from his fingers and she started to resist. "No," she whispered.

"Or maybe you're concerned about Julie?" His fingers rotated to the inside of her knees, better to spread her legs when the time came for it. The wolf smiling unclothed and naked. "That's between Jules and me. I'm still wondering, though," the pressure from his fingers began to push her legs apart slightly, "why did you look us up, and why did you keep coming here?"

She closed her eyes. Get up! Get out of here! Stupid, stupid, STUPID! But she was fixed to the chair, her need, her hope pinning her in place, the image of her naked, spread open, taking him. She felt a drop forming on her cheek.

"You're right," his fingers relaxed a little. "I won't do it until you beg me to. You want to tell me to open your legs, to run my fingers up your thighs, to peel your panties down and expose your wet pussy. That's what you want to tell me, but you can't, because you think it will hurt Julie."

Her eyes flew open at the way he was talking to her, but the words were exactly what she had been thinking. She groaned, feeling her arousal winning the struggle. What harm is it? You don't owe Julie anything. He's the guy. The guy who figured you out. The one you've been trying to get back to ever since...She exhaled, "Yessssss."

He looked at her, questioningly. "Yes, as in...?"

She didn't know herself, except she could feel the switch about to flip. She'd been wanting this for so long and now it was possible. He was here and willing and telling her it would be all right. She felt his fingers stroking her skin and she shivered again, on the precipice. And then she fell. "Oh, fuccckkkk," she whispered, opening her legs to feel the material moving along her thighs. "Yes, Greg," she could barely hear herself. "Spread my legs wide open...fucckkkk, goddamnit." She cursed herself for letting her arousal take over, but she had lost control. "Make me strip my underwear off, make me show you how wet I am..." She closed her eyes and took his fingers into hers. The fragrances of hay and grass and musk swirled around them both and she blushed knowing he must be smelling her.

"Hmmm," he resisted. "I don't think that's how you really want it."

Her eyes shot open again and she stared at him, reddening at her humiliation. "Yes, Greg! Please! Make me strip. Make...me...expose...myself to you." The last words were practically inaudible. She looked down at the bulge in his shorts, the inner voice shouting in joy at what she was doing to him. "Please," she begged, quietly. "Please let me take my clothes off. I can't stand it anymore. I need to be stripped, Greg. I need to expose my..." she almost said 'ugly,' but stopped herself, "cunt and breasts for your..." she didn't want to say it; she couldn't say it, but the need to humiliate herself was winning over. "Your approval." She whispered.

He sat back, smiling thinly, waiting.

She swallowed and stood up, shaking. Lifting the dress over her head she knew he would see how wet she was. She knew he would see her tiny breasts and she blushed again.

"Holy fuck," he cursed quietly. He could see her light brown patch of hair pressed up against her underwear, the soaked fabric nearly invisible. "You're absolutely..."

He didn't finish the sentence, leaving her to think the worst. You're absolutely a whore? Ugly? Mis-shapen? "Please, Greg," she begged, moving her fingers to remove her bra. "Finish your sentence."

He looked up at her face, seeing the embarrassment and arousal and looked back to her pussy, pushing against the transparent cloth. "You're absolutely soaking wet," he said quietly, reaching forward unconsciously before stopping. "No. You have to ask me." He motioned to her to stop what she was doing and returned his fingers to hover over her waistband, waiting.

"Oh god ohgod, ohgod, Greg..." She was panting, standing with the dress dropped to the side. "Please...pleasepleaseplease...don't make me...fuckkkk..." She so hated herself for what she was about to do, but the switch had flipped and the fires licked up her spine, tickling the back of her head. "Please strip off my underwear, Greg."

He looked up at her, his smile barely showing his teeth, as if the wolf was about to eat her. She saw the scene: pushed up against the table, her legs spread open, his hands pushing her thighs apart and his tongue barely touching her until she begged him for it. She felt another pulse of liquid and moaned.

"No, I don't think so," he sat back a little, leaving his fingers just in front of her pubic mound. "I think you want something else..."

She looked at him confused. What could he want me to say...to do? "Please, Greg. Strip me naked. Please!" She heard the need in her voice, her hands frozen by her side.

He took her fingers in his and guided them to her underwear. "I want to watch you do it."

She gasped as his fingers pushed hers into her waistband and let go.

"Tell me what you're doing. You know you want to."

She looked down and saw how excited he was, how uncomfortable his cock must be, doubled over in his shorts. He followed her eyes and looked back up. She could see the gears turning and knew what he was expecting her to say...and do. "I'm...fuckkk...stripping...off my...soaking wet panties so you can see me...my...pussy...dripping...fuck...Greg..." She was whispering as she peeled the wet fabric down her thighs. "And so you can...finger fuck me," she continued, standing back up, spreading her legs and undoing her bra. "I'm exposing my...tits.." she hated the word, mostly because it too accurately described how small they were. She let the bra drop and continued to plead with him. "Let me see your hard cock, Greg. Let me see how much I'm turning you on." She breathed the words.

She gasped again as his fingers traced the fox tattoo, lightly touching her lips to catch a drop of fluid hanging there. She looked down and saw his face, his eyebrows raised.

"Please shove your fingers in my cunt, Greg!" She hissed, worried someone just outside the fence would hear her.

He shook his head, lightly tracing across her lips, gathering moisture.

Realizing what he was expecting, she moaned. "Ohgodnooo, fuckkkno, fuckfuckfuck, ohhfuckkk." She caught her breath and then exhaled. "Please let me taste myself, Greg...fuckkkggfgfg." His fingers slid into and out of her lower lips, quickly shifting to her mouth. Over and over again, he masturbated her, dragging her fluid up to her mouth, stopping to wait until she begged again.

"Pleassse," she moaned as his fingers pushed into her, his thumb massaged her swollen clit. "Pleasse let me see your cock. Let me feel it again..." she paused, swaying as he fucked her, the memory of him fucking her throat almost overpowering her, "...in my...throat."

At his expression, she knew she had crossed some threshold. He slipped his fingers out, shoved them in her mouth and used his other hand to open his belt and shorts, pulling them off.

"You want this, right?" He pulled his fingers out and slipped his hand behind her neck.

She looked at down at his cock springing out, and then back at his face, a little frightened at how quickly he was moving, and nodded.

Before she could take another breath, he slipped his hand between her legs and lifted her up onto the table, knocking the wine bottle over in the process. Ignoring the pool of liquid seeping toward her, he walked around the table and pulled under her arms until her head was hanging off. "Tell me what you need." It would have been a growl if he had said it any louder than a hoarse whisper.