Compulsion

Chapter One-2

Now, she paused in the ladies’ room to study her slender, small-breasted figure in the full length mirror, noting with pleasure the way the above-the-knee length of her narrow skirt and the skin-tone pantyhose exhibited her long and shapely legs to their best advantage. She decided she looked pretty good — damned good!

If anyone noticed the startling transformation in the young professor’s attire, you’d never be able to tell. The women on the faculty would studiously avoid commenting on what someone wore; though she knew they noticed. And if any of the campus males turned their heads to look twice at the tall, pretty brunette striding by with those attractive legs, they were much too cowed by politically correct thought to stare, let alone offer even the most modest compliment. Still, Paige couldn’t help feeling pleased with herself as she pulled her chair up closer to the computer, eager to get to the morning’s e-mails.

***

Paige Robbins spent a restless night, tossing and turning. The bedroom seemed insufferably close. It was hot and stuffy in the room; the tangled sheets, unbearably confining. She threw off the sheets, sat up abruptly to tear off her thin pajamas, freeing herself to sprawl out nude on top of the bed. She couldn’t resist touching herself, her breasts, moving a hand down her naked body, to that place between her legs. Soon she was rocking, humping the hand jammed between her thighs, m**********g furiously. The orgasm exploded over her, intense and long, and deeply satisfying. In the blissful aftermath she fell asleep, but the s****l fury was not done with her. That night she had the most intense wet dream she had ever had in her life! The next morning, the erotic dream stayed with her, continued to haunt her; a vivid memory that wouldn’t leave her alone.

In the dream, she was in her office. She was naked, or very nearly so, wearing nothing but pantyhose and heels. But it didn’t seem unusual for her to be naked; she was simply sitting there before her computer, her back to the door, when she heard a knock. Someone had entered, but she continued working as the unseen figure stepped up behind her. Dream-like she rose to her feet, leaned over her desk, lowered herself to rest on her forearms, thrusting back her pantyhose-encased rearend at the intruder. She remembered the feeling of hands on her hips, hands that slid around to lower her pantyhose, peeling them down over her jutting bottom., exposing her bottom to his eyes. She turned to look over her shoulder at the mysterious figure. It was then she saw the full face of the figure, smiling back at her with a wicked grin on his bearded face: Marcus Wolfe! His curled fingers had slipped into her pantyhose at each hip, and were tugging the stretchy nylon down her thighs, while she arched her back, presenting her naked buttocks to him, wagging her butt in lewd invitation. She shuddered at the thought of it; but a ripple of randiness slammed through her, obliterating her feelings of revulsion in its wake.

***

In another bedroom, several miles away, Maddie Fox had also tossed about in troubled sleep. She seldom had vivid dreams, the kind that stay with you, and she couldn’t remember when she had last had an erotic one. But now as she sat up in bed, and took a deep breath, she tried to shake off the persistent memories from the night that seemed so real.

She had been in the arms of a mysterious stranger. He stood behind her with his lowered head buried in the crook of her neck. His strong arms enfolded her, and his slow warm hands were moving up and down her hungry, writhing body. She was wearing a shiny silk top, and her lover was taking his time, languidly exploring her body. His hands were slowly moving the slippery material that slid over her naked breasts, while she squirmed in the intolerable heat of burgeoning arousal. Then, his lips moved, his tongue touched her, drew a wet line up her craning neck. A bold hand plunged down the front of her blouse to find and cup a small, bare breast, and fondle it in a most pleasant, dreamy caress. Her n*****s were alive, tingling, the sensate tips excited, stiffening out to press into his cupping palm.

She arched back, surrendering to her masterful lover, as he felt her up and nibbled his way up her ear. Then he turned her in his arms, and she looked up for the first time, to watch in wonder as Marcus Wolfe undid the buttons down the front of her blouse, one by one, quite deliberately exposing her body to his lustful gaze. It seemed impossible; incredible. Of all people to invade her dreams! She shivered at the memory, shook herself, ran her fingers through her hair, then got up to stagger towards the bathroom.

***

Maddie Fox, her reddish brown hair darkly plastered to her skull, emerged from the steamy shower and meandered, stark naked, down the hall and into the bedroom. It was quiet in the house. Scott was already gone. He had left for the office early and, except for Spencer and Kate, the dogs, she had the place all to herself. She would take her time getting dressed, quite content to pad around the carpeted floor in the nude. For some reason, she was feeling slightly randy this morning. When she woke up she found Marcus Wolfe, of all people, on her mind. Images of that erotic dream came to her in bits and pieces; thoughts of the bearded lecher, Wolfe. She considered the image in a curious, detached way.

It was odd, because nowadays she never gave s*x much of a thought. Scott really was sweet — an intelligent and sensitive guy, tolerant to a fault; but after seven years of marriage, both seemed to be drifting. s*x just no longer seemed very important to their marriage. She still loved Scott, but her needs were less frequent. Maddie didn’t take much notice as s*x faded away from their life together. She threw herself into her work, determined to carve out a niche for herself as a recognized scholar on women’s issues. She traveled extensively, invited to seminars and conferences where she presented papers to like-minded women, and listened attentively to their paper, in turn.

She pulled her thoughts away from her marriage, and turned them to Paige, and the committee meeting they would face that afternoon. Maddie had pushed for them to hire Paige. She instantly liked her, and knew they thought alike. The two women were determined to transform the stodgy old Department into a leading light for professional women everywhere, raising the consciousness of all academia about the issues that really mattered.

Thoughts of the tall, cool brunette were going through her head as she plunked her naked bottom down on the satiny pillow of the vanity bench, and gazed up to confront herself in the mirror. The pixie-like face that looked back at her from under those damp bangs, met her gaze with serious, green eyes. She took in the compact shoulders and teardrop-shaped breasts — small, plump t**s with just the slightest sag to them, that presented with wide brown n*****s. She thought of Jennifer, a lanky kid who always sat slouched in a front seat in her “Intro” class, her long, slack-limbed body sprawled out like a lissome colt.

Jennifer was one of those free spirits, who, as far as Maddie could tell, didn’t even own a bra. Her apple firm breasts, their well-defined n*****s pressed boldly against straining T-shirts, invited the boys to look — which they did, to the point of walking into walls! Maddie watched them in class, sneaking furtive glances at Jennifer’s chest. Drooling like helpless puppy dogs!

Then, yesterday, as she was waiting for class to begin, she watched one of the boys, a guy named Kyle, who had been talking quietly to Jennifer, lean closer to whisper something into her ear. The girl giggled, and gave him a playful shove, and Kyle eased back in his chair, a pleased smile on his face. He was wearing pair of denim shorts and as he slouched back in his seat, he opened his legs, letting his knees fall apart, presenting to Maddie, who had a direct view to the boy’s crotch, an unmistakable bulge, thick and hard, brazenly tenting the tight denim. The thought of that young prick, swelling up in the flush of arousal, hard and ready for the girl he was flirting with, gripped Maddie like a vise. She became aware, searingly aware, of the heightened male horniness. She could almost smell it: the s****l excitement stimulated by the jiggle of the frisky girl’s unfettered breasts. Suddenly, a wave of randiness swept over her, and she had to gulp down a knot of lust and lean back against the podium for support, as she ran a hand over her brow.

Now before her mirror, she brought up a hand to cup her own left breast, hefting the little weight on her curled fingertips. An extended thumb rubbed thoughtfully over the pliant n****e. The words ‘bare breasted’ came to her. A wicked thought raced through her. Why not? After all, in the dearly days the burning of the bras were burnt publicly in an act that became the signature ritual of the Liberation Movement. Of course, it would be silly to actually destroy her underwear, but the thought of going around wickedly bare-breasted under her blouse, brought a smile to her lips sent a wicked thrill rippling through her.

She jumped up to slip on a pair of panties, and then stood before her closet considering a top. It was a sleeveless blouse that she selected, almost a vest, made of shiny purple silk. She buttoned the front and coaxed her breasts into place, delighted with the feel of the slippery fabric rubbing over her n*****s. The top few buttons could be left open; wide collar smoothened down into two flattened triangles.

Maddie ran her hands down her flanks and over her hips, and then back up again, to lightly cup herself through the thin slick fabric. Smiling to herself, she sat down on the bed to struggle into a pair of pantyhose, though why she chose to put up with the damned inconvenience of pantyhose, she couldn’t say; but when she pulled them into place and ran her flattened hands over her nyloned haunches, she felt good. She stepped into her dark twill pants, and finally, slipped her stockinged feet into a pair of flats.

Now, completely dressed, she settled once more before her vanity, to blow dry her damp hair, rake clawed fingers through the unruly mop, fluff up the bangs. On an impulse, she opened a drawer of long-ignored cosmetics.

She selected some blush. A little makeup wouldn’t hurt, she decided, even if it violated some stern feminist injunction. It had been a long time since she considered makeup at all — the primping before the mirror to make oneself more attractive (to the male of the species?); it was all sort of repugnant, if you thought about it! She knew it simply perpetuated the “s*x object” myth! Paige would be shocked to see her using makeup. She was really adamant on the subject, but Maddie wasn’t so sure. After all, one could only take sisterhood so far. Surely, a bit of blush to add some color to the cheeks, and maybe even a touch of lipstick, something subdued, of course. It couldn’t hurt? At least, once in a while?

She sat regarding her frank cat-eyes in the mirror, large and green and thoughtful; no longer young, with crowsfeet starting to appear at their edges. She approved of the subtle definition of her now highlighted cheekbones, the muted pink lipstick, carefully blotted, that defined her pursed lips.

‘Oh, what the hell,’ she thought, reaching for some eye liner.