Compulsion Read online

  “Do you still want to fight me?” he rasped.

  I could hardly shake my head. I forced the words past his grip on my neck. “No, Matt.”

  “Good.” His voice was really guttural. “The deal was made last night. You are mine, up to and including Saturday night. You. Submit. To. Me. Do you understand?”

  I was beginning to, and it terrified me, and it aroused me. My brain was clouded and confused but my body was startlingly aware of every inch of his. His heat seared me. His hardness and heaviness were flipping all my switches—I wanted to be trapped under him naked. I craved the ultimate experience of helplessness.

  “If you run I will catch you and if you hide I will find you.” His voice deepened further. “If you fight me I will utterly and ruthlessly subdue you. I will make you surrender things to me that you cannot begin to imagine. Your virginity does not make me merciful. It is a prize, and I am looking forward to taking it from you with great anticipation. But first I am going to do things to you that no virgin could imagine. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Matt,” I whispered, staring into the stark lines of his face, the wide pupils of his eyes. He was just as affected as I.

  “Good girl,” he rasped. Then he kissed me hard, crushing my lips and forcing my mouth open. I made a sound of protest as our teeth clashed together and he growled warningly in his throat, increasing the pressure. I stopped struggling and gave way under him, letting him defile my mouth with his. His sexuality burned away my mind and my will, and I was all raw sensation and lust under his weight. A distant part of my mind was shocked at how much I loved this, how much I craved this from him.

  He ended the kiss abruptly and sat back, kneeling astride my thighs and finally releasing my throat. He unbuttoned my shirt, his expression quelling any thoughts I had of struggling. When all the buttons were undone, he slid a hand behind my back and lifted me slightly, pulling the shirt off me and upward. My hands were trapped in the sleeves, three little pearl buttons holding each cuff snugly around my wrists. He hooked the shirt over the wide back of the chair so that, while I wasn’t exactly immobilized, I couldn’t reach forward to touch him. I lay before him in my flimsy white bra, wriggling under the intensity of his gaze.

  He reached down between his thighs, which still straddled mine, and dragged the hem of my skirt up my legs, working it over my ass until it was up around my waist. When my pantyhosed legs were fully exposed, he pushed one of his knees between mine and looked consideringly at me.

  “Very nice, Jane. You have a beautiful body. But we need to…expose you a lot more.”

  Expose.

  His deliberate use of that word had my nipples hardening painfully and my cunt clenching. He knew somehow that the thought of being exposed to him was causing a sexual meltdown inside me.

  He reached into the top of my left bra cup and pulled my breast out and over the top of the bra. My nipple was a little squashed in on itself from being confined in the bra. He clicked his tongue at the sight then bent down and seized it with his mouth, sucking hard. I cried out brokenly at the sudden sweet pain and he rasped his tongue over the sensitive tip, then sucked and pulled back until my nipple popped out of his mouth, elongated and reddened. He pulled out my right breast and did the same, sucking it even longer. He left my breasts propped over the top of my bra, lifted up and squeezed together.

  “That’s much better,” he murmured. “Aroused, ready for me. Presented for my mouth. We must keep them like that.”

  I groaned. It was the best I could do.

  He slid down my body, off the chair and onto his knees, the footrest dipping beneath his weight. He knelt back and looked at me and my body hummed as if he were touching me, his gaze was so intense.

  “I like black pantyhose,” he mused, “but I prefer stockings. Stay-ups or with a garter belt. They don’t cover your sweet cunt. We’ll get you some, but for now we’ll make do with these.”

  He placed his hand over my pantyhose-covered mound and I cried out at the heat of his touch.

  “Spread your legs, Jane,” he ordered. I complied immediately, all thoughts of resistance long forgotten.

  “That’s not enough, Jane. We want you to be very exposed, completely open, so that I can access you… At my discretion.”

  Oh god, the things this man said! My stomach just fell away at the softly spoken words.

  “Put your legs over the arms of the chair, Jane. Spread yourself properly for me.”

  I don’t know how I managed it because my muscles had all turned to jelly, but I got my legs hooked over the armrests, the padded leather cradling me behind my knees. In addition to spreading me to the maximum, this new position tilted my pelvis forward, undoubtedly providing him with the access he demanded. It was an undignified position, humiliating even, and I was blushing hotly, but inexplicably my embarrassment added to my excitement and arousal. My pantyhose were soaked where they covered my pussy, and right down my thighs as well.

  “Hmmm, that’s very good, Jane,” he crooned, then his voice hardened again. “You are to remain in this position, with your legs over the armrests, no matter what happens. No matter what I do to you, or how it feels, you are not to move. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Matt,” I whispered, but I couldn’t even look at him. I was so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. Embarrassment, excitement, fear and arousal surged through me in waves.

  He knelt between my splayed legs without touching me, staring at my pantyhose-veiled cunt until I thought I’d go mad. At last he ran his big, hard hands up my legs and up the inside of my thighs. His firm fingertips probed me through the pantyhose, testing my wetness, my softness. He plucked at the pantyhose where they lay against my pussy and lifted them away from my skin. Then he gripped the thin fabric between his forefingers and thumbs…and ripped.

  I gasped and felt cool air on my pussy. He chuckled slightly at my shock.

  “Oops, your pantyhose are torn, Jane,” he said sarcastically. “All the way from here…” He touched the top of my pussy. “To here.” He trailed his fingers down through my sopping curls, past my vaginal opening, to just above my anus.

  “A beautiful pussy-sized hole, framing a beautiful, wet pussy. How wicked of you, Jane. But how perfect for me. I can put things through this hole.”

  He illustrated his point by sliding his fingers through my wetness, parting my lips and fingering my softness, stroking the sides of my clit and pinching it lightly. I sobbed and writhed on the chair, orgasm rapidly approaching. I was so aroused—it wouldn’t take much. But he stopped.

  “I decide when you come, Jane, not you. I decide when, where and how often. If you’re a good girl, it will be often—you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh god, yes, Matt, please,” I panted.

  He laughed and flicked my clit, sending stabs of sensation up my cunt. He was torturing me, laughing at me.

  “Not yet, Jane. Now that you’re properly exposed, I’m going to examine you. I want to have a good look at this virgin pussy. It’s not going to be a virgin for much longer, remember, so I need to investigate it thoroughly. I may even need to do some probing.”

  My eyes were closed and I felt a spinning sensation. This was out-of-body arousal. If he just kept talking to me, I would come from his words alone.

  He leaned closer to my pussy and ran his fingers through my curls again. Then, using both hands, he spread me wide and held me open, looking his fill.

  “Oh god, yes. Just do anything to me.” Was that my voice? And what was I saying?

  “I will, sweet Jane, I will. Anything I like. You’re all mine.”

  I could tell from his voice that he was smiling.

  He dipped his head down and licked delicately round my clit then sucked the sensitive tip into his mouth, pushing the hood back and exposing the vulnerable bundle of nerves to his velvet tongue. He let it go almost immediately, knowing that I couldn’t handle the raw sensation right now. He tongued lower, plunging between my inner labia, suck
ing and lapping, the heat of his mouth and breath branding me where no man had ever touched his lips before. I writhed and twisted mindlessly, utterly at his mercy.

  He pulled back and opened those delicate inner lips with his fingertips, groaning as he examined me.

  “Jane, you still have your hymen. Christ, I can’t believe it.”

  I felt the lightest of touches at the opening of my vagina. He must have been fingering the little membrane that partly covered my vaginal opening. He bent his head and licked at it, carefully, slowly, then inserted the tip of his tongue into my vaginal passage.

  “Your entrance is so small. I don’t know if I could even get my finger in there without breaking it. But I’m going to try—just relax.”

  I tried to see what he was doing, a slither of anxiety intruding into my sensual daze. I was quite sure that he’d hurt me now. Nothing ever went in there. I’d tried tampons as a teenager but I’d never managed to insert them because of the pain. I’d also never had a dildo or even put my own fingers in there to masturbate.

  He began to insert his blunt forefinger, holding me spread open with his other hand, and I felt a stretching, tingling pain right at the entrance. Then the heated burn of his finger entered my passage and I gasped, jerking in the chair.

  “Easy, Jane,” he ordered, his voice strained. “It’s tougher than it looks. I’ve got my finger almost all the way in and it hasn’t torn, just stretched a bit. It’s amazing. Does it hurt?”

  “Yes,” I moaned, “it’s burning me.”

  He slowly withdrew his finger, circling the side walls of my passage as he did so. The pain was sweet and sharp, and I was both relieved and disappointed when it was out.

  “Well done, Jane. Your first penetration. I’m going to take a photograph of your pussy now. I want to remember how you look before we break your hymen.”

  He already had his phone out and, spreading me with one hand, he clicked a photo with the other. Lust came crashing back over me at the thought that he wanted to look at a picture of my cunt when we were apart. A fresh wave of wetness oozed from me.

  “You’re so responsive,” he growled, fingering me again as he slid the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He leaned in to lap up the fresh, fragrant juices, and tormented my clit with his tongue. When he raised his head again, his lips and chin were shiny, and he licked the corners of his mouth as he watched me with hooded eyes. He was obviously a highly sensuous man who reveled in the smells and tastes of sex, and I shivered, wondering what his limits were and if I’d ever be able to fathom them.

  “Jane, your virginity is mine to take,” he said. A statement, not a question, but I answered anyway.

  “Yes, Matt.”

  “This hymen is mine to break in the manner of my choosing.”

  “Yes, Matt.” The coil of desire tightened in my stomach at the thought.

  “I’m going to break it now. With my fingers,” he added, seeing my alarmed reaction. “When we have sex at the party on Saturday you will have enough to contend with, without the pain of breaching this.” His fingers moved on me again, caressing my clit, sliding up and down through my wetness to brush over the entrance to my vagina, caressing the little guardian membrane.

  “Besides, you’ll probably bleed.”

  I closed my eyes in disbelief that we were discussing this. Although for some reason it was really hot. His fingers continued their creeping, caressing exploration, keeping me in hope of that elusive orgasm.

  “It’s for your own good. On Saturday, I’m going to fuck you hard. If I do this now, you’ll heal up by then.”

  “Yes, Matt,” I answered, arching my back, wishing he’d just increase the speed of his fingers a tiny bit. I was so close…

  “Ask me to do it, Jane,” he ordered.

  “Wh-what?” My brain was malfunctioning from sensory overload.

  “Say, ‘Fuck me with your fingers, Matt. Fuck me hard and split me open.’”

  “Oh,” I moaned, “fuck me with your fingers, please, Matt. Split me open.”

  “Tell me you want to be open for me.”

  “I do, I want to be open for you, Matt.” I thrashed my head from side to side. I was beyond caring about pain or my hymen, or anything. I just wanted him to give me relief, to let me come.

  “And so you will be, Jane.”

  He put his mouth on me again—that cruel, sexy mouth that uttered words that sent my body up in flames—and began to work my clit in earnest. My orgasm coiled like a great spring waiting to be released. I was holding and releasing my breath erratically, all my muscles tensing up for the explosion.

  I felt his fingers at my entrance, pressing in. No, not fingers, but thumbs, from both hands, while he held me spread open. I fought the intrusion, trying to twist away, but he pressed the sides of his hands into the junction of my hips and speeded up the rhythm of his licking and sucking at my clit. Then his thumbs penetrated my opening. He simultaneously pushed them in and pulled them apart and a stabbing burst of pain shot through my cunt as my orgasm burst over me like a shock wave. For the first time in my life I passed clean out.

  I came round quickly to a strange sensation of warmth and wetness running down my thighs, and my eyes popped open. Matt was standing between my legs. He’d dropped his jeans down his muscular thighs and was making himself come and come, his fist wrapped around his straining dick, the muscles in his tattooed arm bulging. His come was running over my spread thighs, over the black nylon of my pantyhose and over my exposed pussy. I watched as he rode out his orgasm then crashed to his knees before me, tenderly kissing the top of my mound before slumping against me.

  We were still for a few minutes, shaken by the force of what we’d done. I couldn’t believe I’d actually fainted. My pussy was sore, throbbing and unbearably sensitive. He rose to his feet a little unsteadily and did up his jeans. His voice was rough.

  “Christ, Jane, that was epic. Stay there. I’m going to get a towel and clean you up.”

  I did as he said and he was soon back with a soft, very new towel, half of which was dampened with warm water. He knelt between my legs again and carefully cleaned me up, wiping away my blood and his come. The warmth of the towel was comforting and I was suddenly exhausted.

  He released my arms from my shirt and pulled me gently to my feet, holding me against his body as I swayed slightly. He pulled my skirt down, but instead of helping me to put my shirt back on, he unclipped my bra and let it fall to the floor. Then he took his t-shirt off and dropped it over my head. I was instantly enveloped in the smell of musky cologne and warm male skin.

  “Come on, let’s get you home,” he said and picked me up, cradling me in his arms as if I weighed nothing. He was very strong. I turned my face into his bare shoulder, nuzzling his smooth skin, and let my eyes drift closed as he carried me all the way back to my house, through my open back door and to my bedroom. He was scarcely breathing any harder than normal. He put me down just outside my bathroom and gave me a little push through the door.

  “Get in there, Jane, but just do the essentials. You can have a nice bath in the morning.”

  I used the toilet, cleaned my teeth and took out my contact lenses before stumbling out to where he was waiting. The quilt was pulled down and he’d put a tall glass of water on the nightstand. He gestured me into bed and pulled the covers over me, tucking me in like a child and smoothing my hair back.

  “Be next door at six thirty sharp tomorrow,” he reminded me as sleep rushed over me. I didn’t hear him leave.

  Chapter Three

  Wednesday

  The next day when I knocked on his door at six thirty I had my handbag slung over my right shoulder and a bundle of clothing clutched in my left arm. His t-shirt was not part of the bundle—he was never getting it back again. He answered in his usual outfit of t-shirt and jeans, all black today, and waved me into the lounge. We turned to inspect each other and it crossed my mind that we were already falling into little routines despite our very short acqua
intance.

  Black suited him. He looked so very golden-blond, like a fallen angel. Even his bare feet looked heavenly—clean and tanned, with beautifully groomed toenails. He was sumptuous.

  He was giving me the once-over too. I was in another suit of invisibility armor. Today the skirt was navy-blue and the shirt was a subtle champagne-pink. Navy pumps completed the ensemble. It was too hot for pantyhose. My hair was up in a perky bun. I’d felt good that morning—physically sore but in high spirits, and not plagued by the doubts of the day before—so I’d headed off to work in an optimistic mood.

  Of course, a day of being invisible again had brought me down a few notches, but it had still been a good day. I’d rushed home, anticipation thrumming up and down my spine. But after exchanging my glasses for contact lenses, I’d come to an abrupt halt in front of my wardrobe. I was supposed to bring my potential party outfits to Matt tonight. My heart sank. This was not going to go well. The dichotomy between my inner and outer selves caused havoc with my wardrobe, and it was rare for me to find an item of clothing that I really liked or was comfortable in.

  He took the bundle of clothing from me and draped it over the couch.

  “How are you feeling today, Jane?” he asked. The question was innocent enough but I knew what he was referring to.