Compulsion

by Don Julian Winslow

  “And I really like this outfit.” Her lightly-touching hand moved lower to finger the vinyl skirt, as if sampling the material. The skirt had ridden well up over the rounded prominence of Paige’s nyloned knee. The dark haired girl kept her eyes down, watching Hillary’s fingers pick up and slowly rub the shiny fabric. And when they gave up that fabric, they lightly brushed across her knee in departing; Paige felt as though she had been burned by that brief, delicate touch.

  “And those charming boots. They’re just perfect for you!” Hillary enthused. “Of course, with boots like that a girl has to have a good pair of legs to carry it off. Boots are really quite fashionable nowadays, aren’t they? Still, they must be hot on a day like this. Why don’t you take them off, and get comfortable?” she coaxed gently.

  Paige, confused and tense, suddenly became aware of the nearness of the other woman who had shifted closer and now sat with her legs tucked under her, just inches away, her handsome blond face, poised and expectant. Paige felt warm, and unexpectedly -- horny! She felt a niggling twitch in her vagina. She remembered those pretty features twisted in lustful passion. Not daring to look at her companion, Paige uncrossed her legs, and leaned over to find the zipper of her right boot. What happened next surprised her, and she meant to protest, but bit off the words as Hillary put down her drink, and slid down off the couch to kneel at her feet.

  “Here, let me help you,” Hillary offered, her voice suddenly low and husky.

  Paige leaned back into the cushions, and extended a booted foot, smiling down on the short-cropped blond head, as Hillary sitting back on her heels, bent forward to take the leather-clad calve in her hands.

  “Oh yes, these are nice, very nice,” she purred, running down the zipper, and pulling the boot free. The other boot was carefully removed as Paige, feeling deliciously languorous, settled back on the sofa, letting her head loll back against the cradling cushions of soft ultra suede.

  She luxuriated in the feel of Hillary’s hands clasping her feet and ankles, gently rubbing and massaging, Eager fingers slid around a taut calve and hefted the warm, firmly packed nylon, as all the while Hillary looked up, watching Paige’s face for a sign. A wave of joyful exaltation swept over Hillary when she saw the lean brunette’s eyes flutter closed, and she knew that Paige was giving herself up to the waves of pleasure. From somewhere far away the words ‘lesbian lover’ floated by her. An adoring hand slowly moved up that feminine leg inch by inch, savoring the silken curves of that long and exquisitely sculpted limb whose smoothly tapering length extended down to a trim ankle and long, slender feet.

  Clasping each ankle, Hillary lifted the slack legs to place the heels nesting together in the valley of her lap. She settled back on her heels, pausing to appreciate the perfection of those slender close-set legs.

  Paige fell back, surrendering, giving herself up to a kind of heavy sensual indolence that settled in on her as she watched the blond through half-lidded eyes, looking down on the trim woman who knelt before her. She let out a long sigh and let her eyes flutter closed, smiling as she slid into dreamy contentment, not caring as she felt her skirt being shoved back uncovering all of those marvelous stockinged lengths, as those dreamy hands kept up their loving of her sinuous nyloned lines.

  Then her nyloned foot was being lifted, brought up to Hillary Dewitt’s lips! The toes curled with pleasure at the first brush of those soft warm lips. The lips fastened on the big toe, kissing, sucking, gently sucking. An erotic thrill knifed through Paige, leaving her insides soft and mushy, leaving her helpless, drained. From somewhere she heard a low, earthy moan of ecstasy, and realized vaguely the moan was coming from her.

  The slow hands moved up her slack loins, and she quickened when she felt them firmly feel their way along her haunches. A part of her said: this is wrong, all wrong! After all, she wasn’t a lesbian! Yet, she did nothing. She lay there passively, didn’t move a muscle as the short skirt was pushed up her legs and her knees were oh so gently nudged apart.

  She heard the words that thrilled her to the core: “Oh, darling Paige, you don’t know now how I’ve longed for this moment.”

  Paige Robbins’ lips moved to say something, but no words came out. Her long limbs lay as they had been left loosely parted, the skirt hoisted shamelessly up her thighs, legs sprawled open in wanton abandon, like a slovenly whore’s. But the dark-haired woman was beyond caring; her limp body was useless, a rag doll's body drained out of all will, all purpose. She was free, floating, blissfully content to place herself in her lesbian lover's adoring hands.

  ***

  Sitting at her desk, Dr Robbins contemplated the envelope she held in her hands. Behind her, the computer screen showed an a lineup of ready e-mails. Only one had been opened; the others, patiently waiting her attention, had been ignored. She paid no further attention to the computer, or to much of anything else, as she studied the envelope: square, cream-colored heavy paper, with her name written on the front in black ink. An invitation of sorts.

  ***

  When Lydia Wyngate had been talking to a secretary as she opened the cream-colored envelope. The woman was amazed to see Professor Wyngate’s monologue abruptly cut off as her eyes scanned the piece of paper through her half-glasses. She stood stock still, and her face went pale, her features drawn into a dazed look. It was an invitation, from that man -- Marcus Wolfe. The wave of disgust and indignation that rose up in her was abruptly swamped by an exciting surge of deep-seated pleasure.

  ***

  Jamie McDonough collected her mail from her campus mailbox, and noticed the thick creamy envelope with her name on it. She would open it with the rest of the mail when she got home. She stuffed the lot of it into her backpack, and didn’t give it a second thought. It lay waiting for her, tucked in her backpack as she climbed on the bus. It would not be ignored.

  ***

  Hillary DeWitt was puzzled to find a hand delivered letter in her mailbox. It bore no stamps, nor address -- just her name, written in black ink. It was clearly an invitation of some sort. She was curious, and couldn’t resist tearing open the envelope right then and there.

  .***

  Maddie Fox was supposed to be getting her notes together for class, but anyone looking into her office would have found the young professor sitting at her desk, staring vacantly ahead, as if paralyzed. An opened invitation lay before her on the desk. She had been invited to Marcus Wolfe’s place in the country! She remembered thinking: It was rubbish, ridiculous, some sort of joke. She didn’t know it, and she would have vehemently denied it had she been told, but it was an invitation she couldn’t refuse.

  2. The Joy Toy

  ________________________________________________________________________

  Nathan, plain, ordinary, quiet, didn’t have much going for him. Not much that is, except for one thing – the Joy Toy. But that was enough to make him wildly popular with the chicks, who could never seem to get enough.

  ________________________________________________________________________

  Every Tuesday we’d meet for lunch at Del’s. You might know it: a little Coffeshop over on 4th Avenue. We’d always get the same table, way in the back, and they’d let us alone. The waitresses wouldn’t hassle you, cause by the afternoon we practically had the whole place to ourselves. So we’d spend a couple of hours smoking, drinking coffee, mostly talking, you know the sort of thing agents talk about -- bookings and venues and clients we once had. That’s how it started the day Sid told us his story. For some reason we were talking about the strangest acts we had ever seen. As you probably know, with these guys, everyone had a story to tell: funny animal acts, bad ventriloquists, amazing contortionists, that sort of thing.

  As we go around the table, I notice that Sid seemed to be getting kinda antsy. At that time, Sid had an interesting side line -- what he called his “specialty acts.” He made good money supplying so-called exotic dancers for strip clubs, and from what I heard , made a very tidy bundle indeed representing the talent
for X-rated films, and God knows what else he did on the shadier side of the business. Like all of us, Sid was a pretty talkative guy, but today I noticed he was kind of quiet, staring at his cup and running his fingers over the rim, as if he was lost in thought. Then it was his turn, and he blurted it out. It was like he couldn't hold it in any more. He had something...something he had wanted to tell us, to tell someone. It ended up that for years he hadn’t told a soul about this one act; sure no one would believe him. But now he was growing more and more fidgety, as though suddenly eager to let it all out. Once he started, the guy never stopped. And he held us there, fascinated; no one interrupted. Except for sipping coffee, or lighting a cigar, no one even moved.

  ***

  Sid's Story

  "You guys know that in our business, you see just about everything, at one time or another. But let me tell you about an act you wouldn't believe. I'm not sure I believe it myself. It's got to be the weirdest act that ever walked into my office...or anybody's office. I never told you guys about it before. You'd think I was crazy. But what the hell, so now I'm retired from the business; who cares what people think?

  One day this guy shows up at my office with this drop-dead, gorgeous blonde at his side. This babe's a knock-out: long and slinky, with small, sexy tits, low-slung hips, and dynamite legs that seem to go on forever. This guy she was with her is a nothing, a nebbish: short and skinny; with glasses, almost bald, not much to look at, just like a million other guys. But this girl,...she's got all the right stuff and it’s perfectly packaged: what you might call the classic model type; high cheekbones, wide, pouty lips, and big blue eyes, all framed by silvery blond hair, long and silky that hangs straight down to her shoulders. And she is one long drink of water. In her heels, she towers over the guy who’s standing next to her by maybe six inches; and every inch of her is snugly packed into this little black dress, you know the kind, one of those tight dresses with a scooped neckline that gives you an eyeful of her loose tits; and is so short that it barely covers her crotch. I'm already getting a hardon, the minute they walk in the door, and I have to get behind my desk and sit down real quick. The guy introduces the tall blonde as Alissia; his name is Nathan.

  The two of them sit down across from me, and I notice he gives her a look and kind of nods, and she hikes up her skirt and crosses those dynamite legs of hers. She's wearing silky black nylons, real stockings, not pantyhose. I can tell they're the real thing, because I can see a sliver of white thigh peeking out at me from under that skirt, the way it angles down when she crosses her legs. I can't take my eyes off those long gorgeous legs of hers; that sexy dress she's wearing has ridden up practically into her lap, giving me a lot to look at.

  This girl doesn't say much, in fact she doesn't say a word; he does all the talking. She just sits there with her dress rucked up those gorgeous legs of hers, avoiding my eyes, and looking decidedly nervous and uncomfortable about sitting in my office like this. But here's the thing. Any other woman, sitting down in one of those tight minidresses, would go right for the hem, pulling the skirt down to cover herself, but this girl, she’s different. Oh, she squirms a little in her seat, as though she's embarrassed by it all; but she doesn't make a move to straighten things out. She just sits there, letting me see those beautiful legs.

  That's weird enough, but here's the really weird part. And this, you won't believe. This guy's got a story, and it's some story, let me tell you! He tells me how this pretty girl is crazy about him, will do anything for him, anything he wants! ‘Isn’t that right?’ he asks her. She doesn’t look at him, sits looking down at the floor, but she nods. Now he’s gonna show me his little secret. He opens this briefcase he's got with him, and takes out this gadget with knobs and buttons, and a little antenna. It looks like a cell phone. Then he takes out some kinda plastic egg, and shows it to me. He puts it on my desk; lets me a look at it. I have to tear my eyes away from the black nylon of a slowly swinging leg, long enough to pick the egg up and give it a good look.

  It's cream-colored, a little smaller than an ordinary egg, and not as hard and smooth. It's porous, he tells me, and there's some kind of secret formula inside. I know that sounds nuts, but wait, here's the kicker. He calls it his 'Joy Toy'. Women love it. In fact, they go crazy over it! Once they've used it, it's like a drug; they get practically addicted to it, he tells me. All a girl has to do is shove it up her snatch, like a tampon, or some weird dildo, and when it’s turned on, she get turned on. He says she feels a rush of the most fantastic pleasure coursing up through her body. He wants me to believe he can turn any girl on... just by pressing the right button. I look at the hot chick beside him, who's now sitting with her head bowed, looking down at my desk, and I can tell that under that pretty blond hair, the girl’s turning three shades of red.

  This guy Nathan goes on to explain to me that this blonde's actually wearing one of his 'toys' at this very moment. In fact, she's sitting there with one of the things stuffed up her cunt! It's kept in place up there by a kind of belt she wears, one with a strap that comes down to run between her legs. If I'd like to see, he'd be glad to have her show it to me. If I’d like to see!

  At first, I'm wondering if this guy's nuts, but now I'm starting to wonder if he's pulling some scam to get me in trouble, sue me for sexual harassment or something, and maybe I should give him the old heave-ho before things get out of hand. Then he asks me to if I’d like to see a little demonstration. And before I can stop him, he presses a button on the gizmo in his hands. Instantly, the blonde jerks up in her chair like she's been electrified. She gives a shake to that long blond hair, clenches her teeth, tightens her grip on the arms of the chair, and rears up and back in her seat. He stabs the button again. The girl’s eyes are shut tight, and her lips fall open, and she comes out with this low, breathy moan. You know the kind of moan I mean. When you get a broad moaning like that, you know it means one thing -- she wants it, and she wants it bad!

  I'm sitting there, totally amazed, when Nathan turns down the volume or something, and the girl instantly collapses right back into her chair. Now we have this leggy blonde sprawled out, limp as a wet noodle, and panting like racehorse after the last heat. Her eyes are still closed, but now she's got this little smile plastered on her lips; a kind of silly, happy smile.

  By now, I'm speechless...me, can you imagine! Meanwhile, Nathan's acting real casual, like this is no big deal. He knows I probably don't believe him. Maybe I'd like to see the way this girl Alissia wears her little toy, he asks me, kind of coy like. And by the way, he adds, she's not wearing any panties. He says this like he's discussing the weather. If I want, he'll have her lift her dress and show me. If I want! At that point I would have sold my mother for a good look up this delicious doll's dress! The man has definitely got my undivided attention.

  Now it turns out that Alissia is actually a little shy about showing herself off like this. To be honest, she hates it, he tells me. But she'll do it anyway. She'll do whatever he says. He's talking about the blonde as though she's not even there, and maybe that's not so far from the truth. Right now this chick looks like she's floating off in never-never land, only gradually coming down to earth. He goes on to say that normally, a girl like Alissia wouldn't be caught dead, dressing the way she does, flaunting it like some sexy whore, strutting around in that revealing minidress and those five-inch 'fuck me' heels. It's just that she loves that toy, having the thing up her cunt, so damn much; she'll do anything for that little jolt of pleasure that he, and he alone, can provide...whenever he feels like it. You see, he's the only one that's got the code you need before you can activate a joy toy. So he's the one she's got to please. She's really got no choice.

  Now he orders the girl to stand up in front of my desk. Without a word, she gathers herself together and obeys, getting to her feet, rising slowly to her full height in those tall heels. This beautiful babe stands before me, hands at her sides, blond head hung low, like a schoolgirl caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She's got h
er eyes fixed on the carpet; she won't look at me if she can help it. Nathan gives me a sly wink.

  'Alissia, show the man. Lift up your dress, Honey,' he says, casual as can be, like it’s no big deal.

  She stands there, holding herself kind of stiff, but she doesn't move a muscle. I'm waiting. You could hear a pin drop. I'm starting to think that maybe this thing doesn't work after all. Then I see Nathan's thumb slide across to the red button, and a short quick flick of that thumb tells me he just sent a jolt of pleasure racing through the girl's body. It's a short, mild jolt. I watch her straighten up; the ripple of pleasure seems to shoot up her spine and go out through her shoulders, as they give a little wiggle, and she breaks out into a big smile.

  Immediately, her hands grab the hem of her dress, and she's bunching it up and hauling it up her legs, uncovering the splendid lengths of those long, mouth-watering thighs, nylon-encased right up to the wide topbands with their fancy lace embroidery. And she doesn't stop once the dress is over the top of her stockings. She knows he wants her to show me her cunt, and by now she wants only one thing ... to please her man. She'll do whatever she’s told, expose herself in some stranger’s office, or stand on her head, or do jumping jacks…whatever it takes!

  I watch as she gathers up two handfuls of the slippery black material and hikes the dress up to her waist, and holds it there, showing us the prettiest little blond pussy you've ever laid eyes on. There's just a light dusting of pale blond fuzz on her cunt: a narrow triangle, divided by a thin leather strap, that presses a little, indenting the soft flesh of her furry vulva as it is drawn up between her legs. I can see it's hanging straight down from a snug belt she wears just above her hips, and it must be attached up in back too, as it’s pulled up into her crotch. I look to her face, fascinated by her reactions. The blonde's got her eyes closed, long lashes lowered. She's embarrassed to be showing herself like this, I guess; she's digging her nails into her palms, the knuckles of her clenched hands are white. As I'm watching that pretty blond face, I see her wince, and then she exhales a long shivering breath. Then she whimpers and squirms in place, hips and body writhing in a happy little wiggle. I knew that she just been given another jolt, electrified by pure pleasure from the little toy buried in her snatch, delivered by the guy that owns her, body and soul.