Compulsion

Chapter One-4

By now the guy fully realized, that incredible as it might seem, he had one very hot chick on his hands; he forgot his fellow passengers as he used a finger to trace the crack of Jamie’s clenching ass. Pressing though the nylon seat of her panties, he followed the curve down between her legs. Then he pushed forward, just a little, nudging her, coaxing open her legs just a bit more, to gain even greater access to her pantied cunt. Jamie shifted her heels, humping the hand that was wedged between her thighs, and rocking back against this stranger’s lean body.

His middle finger sallied into that intimate place between ass and cunt, tickling her in the crotch through the thin strip of damp silk, working the openly panting girl up by using just the tip of his finger. He had her squirming. She sucked in a shivering gasp of air through clenched teeth. Abruptly, her slim shoulders heaved and a massive shudder ran through her body.

The guy used that moment to press his advantage, sending his curling fingers nosing up the front of her crotch, pressing into the spongy pubic mound through the thin nylon, while the fleshy palm of his hand cupped and cuddled the slight bulge of Jamie McDonough’s oh so needy p***y. She was wet: her panties warm and damp in his hand. And while he secretly fondled her furry cunt, the girl’s breathing seemed to stop; her whole body froze.

He felt her buttocks clench instinctively, at each new exploration. He moved his finger gently, deliberately probing between the fleshy folds. Suddenly, her hand flew back, clamped his wrist, and extricated his hand from under her skirt. The horrible thought flashed through his mind: Had he gone too far! But they were both too hot and bothered to care about anything. The bus was coasting to a stop as she dragged the astonished, though now grinning, college boy by the wrist, pulling him down the aisle and out of the bus, wildly eager to finish what had been started on the bus.

***

That night Jamie had a vividly colorful dream. It took place at the college gym where she often went to work out. She found herself alone in the silent, deserted building. She had just finished her work out, and was on her way back to the women’s locker room to shower and change. As she walked down the long tiled hallway, she came upon a large room — the open bay of a shower room.

The incredible thing was that she had come upon the men’s shower room! She knew this was so, because as she stood in the doorway, she saw an unmistakably male figure with his back turned to her, soaping up the front of his body. She stood to watch the naked man with the heavy shoulders, thick waist, and hard-coiled male buttocks that moved as he bent forward. Now he straightened; stood with his hairy, muscular legs spread in a bold, widened stance. Between the arch of his legs, she could see a pair of wet-furred balls dangling down.

She saw herself standing in the doorway. She watched fascinated as the nude man slowly turned around to confront her. It was Professor Wolfe! His left hand was on his hip, and loosely cupped in his right hand was his drooping p***s, thickening as he idly fingered it. He simply stood there, letting the girl look. Her eyes were captivated by the male organ. She found herself walking towards the naked man, helplessly drawn to him like a programmed robot. Everything was happening silently and in the slow motion of the dream. His eyes stayed on hers, as he held his c**k in his hand, and she moved forward to stand before him. He smiled down at her, and slowly nodded his big, half-bald head.

Jamie obediently got to her knees, to kneel before the grinning professor who gave up his stiffening c**k, so that he might lay his large, cupped hand on top of her head. The swollen p***s, semi-hard now, swayed only inches from her hungry eyes; the man’s balls hung heavily before her — large, and hanging heavily in their hairy sack. She leaned forward, lightly placing a hand on his wet hairy thigh, as the other hand came up to cup those big balls, and roll them in her small, fleshy palm. The swollen p***s surged with lust, instantly engorging at the electrifying touch of feminine fingers, lengthening and thickening, and raising its drooping head till it stood upright, wet and gleaming, before her wondering eyes. She knelt in adoration, awe-struck before that fully erected phallus.

She looked up at him as though looking for a sign of affirmation. But he only stood there, smiling down at her, his balding head slowly nodding up and down. Clasping the base of his erect manhood in loosely curled fingers, she lowered her head, to bring her lips to his upright p***s. She planted a kiss on that tautly-drawn prick then extended her tongue, to swirl all over the thick, swollen head, using lips and mouth and slithering tongue in her obsequious devotion to the phallus. Then she took that throbbing, lust-hardened manhood into her mouth, slowly ducking her head in that evocative act of sweet feminine submission.

As the blond girl bobbed up and down on the iron-hard prick, she used her tongue to pleasure the grinning man, starting at the tip and then running her lively tongue down underneath the length of his c**k until she reached the base and then back up again in lavish liquid swirls. The possessive hand that cradled her head, drew her in closer, moving her head in a smooth bobbing rhythm. A lustful urgency drove Jamie on, spurring her on to even greater heights, till she was drawing on him, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked deeply, her head pumping up and down on her professor’s c**k in long, even, methodical strokes.

She felt the shiver that ran through his rigid body, and looked up to find a blissful smile creased his lips, as he closed his eyes to savor the delicious moment — the girl’s pursed lips engulfing the swollen head of his p***s; the heavenly feel of that velvety tongue, even as her other hand cupped his tight hairy scrotum and she enveloped him in her warm, receptive mouth.

His hands fell on her shoulders. He closed his eyes, swallowing down the abrupt upsurge of pleasure, and swayed back on his heels. Tightening his grip on her shoulders, he prepared to surrender to the myriad sensations of the lips and mouth and tongue of the pony-tailed girl who was assiduously working him over with such single-minded determination.

Jamie thrilled to the sense of power that came over her — the sudden realization that she held this mature, older man in her hands, brought him to a helpless state, her captor begging for the continued pleasure of her sucking mouth, the exquisite feel of her lips as she dragged them along his hard throbbing prick. It drove her on, to suck even deeper, more enthusiastically, till the ponytail was flopping up and down, the small blond head pumping in a rhythmic blur.

He ran curved fingers through soft blond hair; guided her bobbing head. Then, as he teetered on the edge of orgasm, he reached out to clasp her small face and hold it between his large hands, as he abruptly yanked back, freeing his pulsating prick just at the moment of climax. He came in a mighty eruption of lust, splattering the girl’s face with thick wads of dripping c*m that decorated her neat, blond features like a sticky spiderweb.

***

Lydia Wyngate approached the computer with a deep suspicion tinged with disdain. For her, the machine had that vague aura of some piece of equipment deposited on her desk by an alien spacecraft. The thing was so obviously the product of a “linear male thinking,” she sniffed. Still, she had to grudgingly admit, it was useful in keeping her in touch with the right people, the sort of people who really mattered, anywhere around the world. And, as a leading scholar and researcher, one was expected to be conversant with things like e-mail, although she always seemed to have some sort of problem getting the damned thing to work.

Today, things went smoothly enough; the list of messages lined up – obediently waiting for her attention. But one caught her attention. With deepening suspicions, she saw there was one from Marcus Wolfe, one without a “Subject.” That disgusting man, with his cave man mentality had no business even sweeping the floors in the Department. Paige’s proposal to the curriculum committee would put him in his place! He’d probably heard about it by this time, and was contacting her in some desperate scheme to squirm out of it. Well, he’d soon find out it was too late!

The big woman couldn’t suppress the smug smile that twisted her bloodless lips as she raised her right index finger over the “Enter” key, and quite deliberately pressed it down.

***

Lydia was sweating under her suit, and she had to stand up to remove her jacket. Was she coming down with something? Feeling light-headed, and flushed with the intolerable heat, she resumed her seat at the conference table, but soon found she was having trouble following the conversation. She had to pull herself together! She made an effort, straightening in her chair, adopting a more attentive posture, her dark eyes sweeping around the table, forcing a broad smile for her colleagues on the committee.

Jonathon Alda, bald, be-speckled, and mild mannered, was sitting opposite her that day, and he thought Brunhilda (his personal, and very private, name for her) was acting rather odd. He was startled to see Lydia show up for the meeting with her dark hair swept up in a neat chignon. She was also wearing pearls, lipstick, high heels, and a pair of impressive earrings. The dramatic shift in her appearance would have been startling in itself, had she not been upstaged by Paige Robbins who had attracted even more attention by showing up off those long sleek legs of hers in a pair of black tights worn with a shockingly brief miniskirt. But Paige had taken a seat across from him on the other side of the table, while Lydia sat directly opposite the man, so he couldn’t help studying her heavily made-up features.

Two buttons at the top of her blouse seemed to have become undone, and he was given an inadvertent (he was sure) view of the woman’s generous cleavage. As she sat across from him in that sleeveless white blouse, her hands folded on the table, he couldn’t help letting his gaze settle on the full swells of Lydia’s Wyngate’s sumptuous bosom, her breasts heavy and rounded, cradled in a lacy brassiere that was dimly visible under the thin white blouse. Lydia was a plump woman, but not overly so, and he had noticed how well she filled out the midnight blue skirt that tightened over the prominent curve of her rounded rump. For some reason, at that moment, and for the very first time, he actually thought of her as a woman, and not as some overbearing sss braying out her constant demands for rights.

Lydia saw where the male gaze had settled, and she secretly preened. The vague thought crossed her mind that she should be indignant, but she didn’t feel indignation. If anything, she felt pleased; inanely, crazily, delightfully pleased. Suddenly, their eyes met; held for just a second. Lydia was the first to look away, lowering her lashes prettily, and to Jonathon’s astonishment, blushing like a schoolgirl. She shifted slightly in her chair, pulling back her shoulders and thrusting her uplifted chest forward over the table. The movement drew her blouse tight, giving the man a detailed look at those fulsome breasts of hers, lightly compressed by the lacy tit-holster.