Compulsion

Webster defines compulsion as: “A feeling of being irresistibly driven to perform some irrational act.” Compulsion presents lovers and strangers, ordinary men and women who are driven to the most extreme lengths by sexual fantasies whose terrible power they can neither understand nor control. Caught up in their unique dramas, they find themselves helpless, swept up in the awesome power of Eros.

An excerpt from Compulsion

In the mirror, she paused to study her reflection, smoothening the thin, body-hugging dress, cupping her plump little breasts, fluffing them up a bit, before running her hands down her body and over the flare of her hips. The summery dress hung by two spaghetti straps, baring shoulders, neck and chest, and the tops of her tits, all sheened with perspiration. The bodice was drawn smooth, pulled taut over the firm bulges of her pert tits. Her nipples were already tightening, growing, hardening; you could just make them out, twin points pressing against the tightly-stretched fabric -- peeking out with expectant audacity. Her nipples had been so very sensitive as of late. Frisky nipples, lightly teased, till they came out to play. She twisted to look back over her shoulder at her behind. ‘Hey babe, nice ass,’ she chuckled to herself, giving her small butt a sexy wiggle. A final tug on the hem in back, and she was ready to go.

The terrible horniness now had her firmly in its iron grip. Wild and wicked; she was so excited that she had to work to control her shaking hands when she grabbed her lipstick – gleaming, wet-red. Curling her painted lips, she pressed them together, and give the mirror her best, lipsticked smile. She studied her hair. Her fingers brushed down her bangs, then she combed clawed fingers through the sides of her hair, imagining a man doing it; sifting her silky hair through his fingers. A shake of her head loosened the mop. Giving herself a final, big smile, she turned to go out into the night heat.

Going out into the street like this, with no bra or panties, was an incredible turn on for the middle-aged woman. She felt naughty and wicked and marvelously free -- all at once. She threw back her shoulders and let her hips sway, as she strolled along the crowded avenue in her high heeled sandals. ‘Fuck me’ shoes -- the words came to her out of thin air.

The thrill of knowing she was naked under the light dress cut through her like an erotic knife. But no one she passed on the street could ever know how turned on she was by the very thought. A tiny voice somewhere inside warned her to be careful. She tried to keep an uninterested look on her face as she passed men on the street, pretending not to notice their stares, the sexual hunger in their eyes. It suddenly came to her: ‘I’m a bitch. A bitch in heat.’ The words ‘bitch in heat’ hung in the air. And they know it! Men sense it somehow, instinctively. Can they smell a bitch in heat? Can they guess that I’m walking around practically naked, wearing nothing at all under this thin little dress? Do they know my pussy is soooo ready: wet, throbbing with aching need? She couldn’t help smiling to herself.

‘Men! They just can’t help themselves. I know their cocks are swelling up as, they stare at me with desire in their eyes.