Compulsion
By Julian Winslow
Part 2
Paige Robbins spent a restless night, tossing and turning. The bedroom seemed close and stuffy; the tangled sheets, hot and confining. Even her thin pajamas seemed too warm, and she tore them off to sprawl out nude on top of the bed. She couldn’t resist touching herself, and soon found she had a hand jammed between her legs, masturbating furiously. After that, she finally did drift off to sleep, but it was only to be greeted by the most intense wet dreams she had ever had in her life! The next morning, the erotic dream continued to haunt her; its vivid memory leaving her shaken
For some reason, she was in her office naked, or very nearly so, wearing nothing but pantyhose and heels. But she didn’t seem to mind being naked, just kept working at her comput
er when there was a knock at the door behind her. 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 feeling hands on her hips, hands that slid around to lower her pantyhose, peeling them down over her jutting bottom. 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: It was Marcus Wolfe! His curled fingers had slipped into her pantyhose at each hip, and were tugging the stretchy nylon down her thighs, while she presented her naked buttocks to him, wagging her butt in lewd invitation. She shuddered at the thought of it; but a ripple of randiness followed hard on her feelings of revulsion.
In a bedroom several miles away, Maddie Fox had also been bothered by a 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.
She was in the arms of a mysterious stranger, who stood behind her with his lowered head buried in the crook of her neck. His strong arms enfolded her, and his slow hands were moving up and down her writhing body. She was wearing a silk top, and her lover felt her up, languidly exploring her body, slowly stroking her breasts through the thin slippery material, while she squirmed in growing heat. Then, as his tongue drew a wet line up her craning neck, he sent a hand a plunging down the front of her blouse to find and cup a small, bare breast, and fondle her in a dreamy caress. Her nipples were tingling, the sensate tips excited, stiffening, pressing into his palms.
She pressed back against her masterful lover, as he 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, 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 finger through her hair, then got up to stagger towards the bathroom.