Compulsion

by Don Julian Winslow

  Warmed with a surge of feminine pride, she confidently squared her shoulders to stand tall and perfectly erect, her back to the seated woman, knowing that those eyes are even now fixed on her tight bottom, flaunting that hard boyish buttocks to be appreciated; waiting, tense and super-alert for what might happen next.

  And what of Madeleine Crowthers? What thoughts are going through her head as her eyes silently caressed the healthy young beauty standing so still, so very close?

  'What a proud filly, you are! That look of innocent beauty! No,' she corrected herself, 'not so experienced perhaps, but hardly innocent. This girl knows the score.’ She studied the twin curves of that well-shaped bottom, placed now just inches from her eyes. ‘And what of you, my pet? Is my longing for you so obvious? Do you know how much I want you? Do you feel it too?' It is all that I can do to keep my hands off you. You're so sweet, so lovely I just have to touch you, to slide a hand up those pretty legs of yours, to hold that perfectly sweet little butt in my hands'.

  Drawn to the irresistible beauty who stood with her back to her, the older woman reached out, but then her hand faltered, and she drew back without touching that still body. In the end, she did no more than rub two fingers together nervously. A shudder of lust slammed through her and left her with an aching sense of longing.

  Madeleine’s mind was racing. She knew the risks. There was always risk in picking up a new girl. She has done this sort of thing before, not often mind you. Only twice had she actually made a pass at clients. There was the lovely, sweet Beth. That seemed so natural at the time. Shy and hopelessly naive, Beth needed someone, and she was there. In time, they grew closer. Beth had been her first protégé. She still thought of the girl with a warm tenderness, and that aching sense of loss that wouldn't heal. And then there had been Jeanne. Flaunting her riveting beauty, her dark eyes flaring with danger, the highly volatile Jeanne was brazen and reckless; completely impossible; a real mistake, and one that had left her shaken. There was even a horrible scene at the studio one day.

  After that experience, Madeleine resolved to keep her hands off the girls at the agency. But she always dreaded the day someone like Kate would come sauntering in. might come along, for she questioned the strength of the resolve that lasted day by day, provided it was not tested.

  She was drawn to Kate instinctively, from the moment she saw her photos: her kind of girl, a slender brunette with long legs, a sly half-smile, and those striking blue eyes. She felt herself moving helplessly towards the inevitable encounter; knew it would happen. Nothing could stop it.

  Helplessly she let it unfold – right up to the point of the interview.

  She had always been very careful, of course. Someone in her position had to be. Still, there is a point in any seduction where discretion can’t be sustained, and the fatal step must be taken. It is the moment of single clear risk, the thrill of danger, which only added to what she wanted. She knew when she found herself all alone in the studio with Kate, that the crisis was upon her. She had no choice. She had to make her move.

  She held her breath, and worked to keep her voice tightly controlled. The request, simply put, came out in an offhanded, casual way, the next logical step really: 'Would she mind taking off her clothes?'

  Kate having expected that, pretended not to care, not in the least. She smiled compliantly, and nodded, her eagerness to please only too apparent. Madeleine understood how badly the girl wanted that contract. But the contract itself was only a start, and it was no guarantee of success. Good looks, even ravishing beauty, that certain carriage, natural charm, poise, these were not enough. A girl had to have something more, that indefinable presence. And Madeliene instantly taken by the girl knew -- Kate had it.

  Now she had the young model turn around, and stand at attention, shoulders squared, legs pressed tightly together, loose hands at her side, presenting once more the full frontal nudity of which Madeleine could not seem to get enough. She leaned forward, looking up at the girl, sighting up the lithe torso to the undercurves of those hard little breasts, the bottom of the crisp chin that jutted so proudly forward. She reached out, gently taking the girl by the hand.

  Kate warmed to the touch; looking down at Madeleine through half lidded eyes. She knows. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Their eyes met in one of those moments of silent understanding that surpasses all words. Then Madeleine's handsome face broke out in a smile. Sure of herself now, she let the corners of her mouth turn up just slightly, and her large eyes soften.

  Her hand tightened around the girl's. And Kate, staring into those big attractive eyes, gave an answering smile, a smile both young and wise.

  "How did you know?" Madeleine asked in a velvet whisper.

  "Know what?"

  "Know that I was attracted to you." The words tumbled out in a breathy confession; low and husky with passion.

  Kate said nothing. But her smile widened in a welcome, an invitation to join the dance.

  Now Madeleine rose from her chair and stood to face the young nude. Both women are about the same height, although Madeleine in stockinged feet was shorter than Kate in her heels. Still they are able to gaze evenly into each other's wondering eyes with only inches to separate them. It is Madeleine who moved first, letting her head fall back, her eyelids flutter down, her lips fall open in mute offering.

  "Kiss me," she breathed the shivering whisper, proffering her mouth, lips parted with a sudden flare of passion.

  The kiss was a deep soulful kiss, with Madeleine wrapping her arms around the thin nude figure, gathering the girl in as she tightened the embrace while Kate yielded, letting her head fall back; letting herself melt in the arms of the older woman; letting herself be enfolded in her perfumed warmth, letting her mouth be kissed..

  Hungry for more, Madeleine pressed her attack, her open mouth covering the other's. Feverish hands are moving with urgency, eager to sample the smoothened contours of that bare back. She thrilled when she felt the quiver of pleasure ripple through the thin frame of her latest conquest. Instinctively, she clasped the trembling girl even more tightly to her, breathing heavily, her lips against Kate's ear:

  "Darling, darling Kate...don't be afraid," she muttered tenderly. "I only want to hold you... and kiss you... and love you. It'll be okay, I promise," she breathed in voice thick with passion.

  And as murmured words of love tumbled out she sought more of that eager young body, nuzzled along the neck, licking her way over the soft curve of a cheek seeking that sweet mouth once again. And this time Kate pressed back, answered her kiss, twisting to eagerly meet her mumbling lips, her own lips parted. Kate's surrender was complete and unquestioning.

  Madeleine's happiness soared when she felt her lover's tongue respond to her first probing, quivering under her touch, playing with hers, and then boldly venturing forth to explore her mouth. A triumphant thrill of conquest flooded through her when that lively tongue began to stab at her own, darting repeatedly, with lusty pointed thrusts.

  By now the healthy girl was clearly turned on. The lifeless arms that once hung limp at her sides, had risen up in answering embrace. As she clutched Madeleine, Kate squirmed hotly back against the still-clad woman, wiggling her shoulders to rub the points of her hard little breasts across the silken blouse, pressing urgently into the hidden softness underneath. She thrilled to the delicious feel of the cool silk sliding against her tautly erect nipples.

  It was Madeleine who broke off the kiss . She leaned back, silently studying her new-found lover with smiling eyes while holding her lightly cradled in her arms. Keeping one arm loosely slung around the narrow waist and still without a word, she gently walked the girl toward the sofa.

  For the longest time they did nothing more than sit there together, side by side, petting on the sofa; two lovers in loose embrace -- one well dressed, the other stark naked. Madeleine did indeed seem content to do no more than hold her, and provide the comfort of her arms. She moved with languid ease, nuzzling, occasionally kissing, ad
oring the girl with wondering eyes, while she slowly, methodically, explored every inch of that hard young body, slow hands moving over those small mounded breasts, brushing the excited tips, gliding down the flanks and hips, passing along the flattened belly to dip between the legs for a quick intimate squeeze, before passing on to mould the curving surfaces of the inner thighs, her hands moving as though she had all the time in the world. Such things should never be hurried.

  But the insatiable hands were getting to the healthy young girl, who resonated to the rising flood of desire, raising her loins, achingly aware of the lust gnawing between her legs. She squirmed desperately, unable to keep still under the maddening caress, the incessant stroking, that had her stirring with the rising heat, then writhing uncontrollably, long legs scissoring, her passionate nature fully, vibrantly aroused.

  Suddenly, the incessant caressing stopped. Hot and bothered, young Kate was abruptly abandoned, and in her confusion she opened her eyes to find the older woman had stood up and was looking down at her, the pretty hazel eyes dewy, and soft with desire. Madeleine gave her a crooked reassuring smile, and brought up a hand to casually unbutton the blouse’s cuff. With her head on the pillows, Kate watched the older woman undress. Laying there with slack legs loosely parted, open and vulnerable, she couldn’t stir. She could only watch. Warm and indolent, she had let herself sink into a kind of sensual lassitude that left her weak so that she could do nothing more than gaze up through half-lidded eyes, watching as the attractive woman undid each button, and the elegant hands methodically worked their way down the front of the opening blouse.

  12. Wind Shear

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  “….the lord of Eros will not be denied his awesome role in our lives.”

  -- Michael Perkins, The Secret Record

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  Yesterday she took a really big hit, the worst so far, and it seemed to last a long time. It scared the hell out of her! They were coming more frequently now, and each one harder and longer than the last. When they first started Meredith wondered if she was coming down with something, maybe the flu. But now she knew it was more than that. Something was dreadfully wrong! The last one was more like a whole-body seizure.

  In the wake of that episode, she had been left profoundly shaken, trembling, and scared out of her wits. There was a queer, disorienting feeling, and there was something else. She felt a curious tingle of arousal, a quickening, definitely sexual arousal it put her on edge. She spent the rest of the day horny, and in a daze, thinking of sex. And she didn’t sleep at all that night, terrified, convinced she going out of her mind!

  They had started a week ago. The first “wind shear” -- those were the words that came to her mind -- was no more than a wave of dizziness that swept over her and just as quickly evaporated. She shrugged it off; vaguely wondering if she really was too young to be having hot flashes. But later that day another one hit her; the next day, two more in rapid succession. Sufficiently alarmed by now, she immediately called her doctor.

  Her doctor did all the usual tests, but she could find nothing wrong. She put her on Prozac; it didn’t help. Then she suggested, somewhat tentatively, that Meredith see a psychotherapist.

  And so she ended up at Dr. Glass’s. As it happened, Meredith was on her way downtown to Dr. Glass’s office when the massive one overtook her, slamming into her with hard thud that took her breath away. When she recovered, leaning over and gasping on the sidewalk, the hot flash had settled in, and on its heels the sudden warmth, the wooziness that left her so weak she had to sit down, or lean against something solid while she panted, struggling to regain her equilibrium. Then came the shearing noise, like sheet of paper being torn, and the world around her blurred into a shimmering haze for a few panic-stricken seconds before abruptly snapping back into place: perfectly clear and reassuringly solid, just as before.

  But now, there was a difference; Meredith found herself in a bright new reality! It was a weird out-of-body experience. Suddenly, she saw herself moving as in a dream in some intense, unbelievably wild, erotic experience -- one that left her tingling and breathless with sexual anticipation.

  Before her was a girl, just a few paces in front of her, walking briskly away. From behind she could see that the girl was tall and slender, built like her, with the same helmet of smooth caramel streaked hair, gently curved and falling to the collar. The girl was striding down the street with determination as though in a hurry, and Meredith felt the urge to keep up with her.

  But the most starting thing was the way the girl dressed. She was all in black; an erotic outfit of shiny latex. A short vest tightly hugged her thin, small-breasted body, and leaving bare her long arms and lanky shoulders. A shockingly tiny miniskirt swished along her striding thighs as she moved with arrogant indifference. She seemed oblivious of the devastating effect she was having on passersby, brazenly showing off those elegant legs sheathed in long black stockings, sleek calves encased in high leather boots.

  The girl could be her twin -- an evil twin sister, Meredith thought. (She herself would never be caught dead in such an outrageous outfit!) But she instinctively knew: this girl was not her sister. It was herself. It was as though she was watching herself strolling down the street. She stood by as a detached observer, watching the brazen young woman, admiring that proud high-heeled strut, the provocative sway of those mini-skirted hips.

  Suddenly, she felt she had to talk to the booted girl. She was running, chasing after her, her heart racing, her pulse pounding. She was right behind her when she reached out to touch her shoulder; the girl spun around to face her.

  Meredith was stunned. The face she saw, the face that met hers -- was her own, looking back at her as in a closely-held mirror! Under the familiar fringe of bangs, she found herself staring into dark brown eyes that were wide open and curiously glazed over. And just below those startling, unseeing zombie-eyes, were the lips and mouth, splattered with a sticky white gruel: the unmistakable residue of male climax dribbled down her chin. Some man had used her, left his come on her face!

  It was lust, pure lust that powered up in her, radiated through her entire body, shook her like the racking prelude to an orgasm. She was in the grip of an overpowering urge to touch her vagina, her pussy, her cunt. The throbbing yearning to pleasure herself proved irresistible, her hand moving down between her legs with a will of its own.

  The world shimmied once again in a dizzying blur, and when it snapped back, Meredith was left standing there on the street flushed and sweating…and to her surprise, definitely wet between her shaking legs. Had she actually touched herself…there? In public; on the street? She was back on familiar 7th Avenue, once more among the indifferent crowd, a few of whom looked at her with mild concern before moving to sidestep the well-dressed, staggering woman as they hurried by.

  ***

  By the time she managed to pull herself together enough to stagger to the doctor’s office, Meredith was verging on a state of sheer panic. She was convinced of it: she was losing her mind!

  Leonard Glass watched in alarm as his clearly distraught patient rushed past him, as though fleeing to the sanctuary of his inner office. Meredith gratefully collapsed onto the couch, still shaking from her harrowing experience. After a few calming words from her concerned therapist, she was able to take a deep breath, shake herself, close her eyes, and begin to babble out her strange tale.

  In a voice that told of her desperation she described the disturbing experience to a keenly interested Dr. Glass. How the shearing snap came over her so suddenly, blew her away and left her disoriented…and curiously aroused. She told him of the scariness of the disturbing erotic scene, so vivid, so real. The booted girl...herself… with that… and here she faltered, deeply humiliated at what she had to tell…gooey “stuff” all over her face. Her faltering voice broke. Dr. Glass looked down on the lowered head of his shaken
patient, and patiently waited while she composed herself enough to continue.

  She told him how the hissing blur came back over her, swirling around her once again. How things jiggled than instantly snapped back into reality. Once again, Meredith had been welcomed back to the real world. All around her people were going about their lives, paying little attention to the slightly disoriented woman teetering on her heels, reeling on the sidewalk as though she were drunk. The massive wind shear had left her wobbly, frightened, and profoundly, deeply shaken.

  ***

  Her hand trembled as she reached for the coffee Leonard thoughtfully provided. As she sat on the couch, Meredith turned to look up at the therapist who stood hovering at her side. Her agonized eyes met kindly ones that seemed to regard her with fatherly concern. It suddenly occurred to her: what an handsome man, an amazingly attractive man, Dr. Leonard Glass actually was! He was tall, masterful, looming over her; an older, wiser man with those gaunt chiseled feature and those steady gray eyes -- eyes that pierced her soul.

  Dr. Glass was fascinated. He readily admitted that he was puzzled by the strange symptoms his new patient reported, but he didn’t seem to be terribly alarmed. He spoke to her in low caring voice, slowly and deliberately, calming her. These things were a sort of dream that intruded on her consciousness, he explained. Not exactly a day dream; more like a nightmare with all its emotional impact. He was sure there was some sort of psychological explanation, and together, they would work to get to the bottom of it.

  Meredith wasn’t so sure, but she was profoundly grateful for the Doctor’s warmth and self-assurance.

  He had her lie back on the velvety chaise lounge he used as his couch. Her head and shoulders, slightly elevated, resting comfortably on the scrolled pillow at one end, while her legs extended lengthwise along the forest green of the plush velvet padding.