Compulsions Ch. 01bynightscribe©
Tendrils of pleasure pulled and tugged at Mike Connors, wrenching him from the deep, restful sleep that had seemed to last forever. Wet warmth seemed to caress him and envelop him, smothering out all thoughts but the pleasure, the unending, undying and undeniable pleasure...
Mike's eyes opened to see the glorious sight of red lips on his erect cock and a raven-haired head bobbing up and down. Consciousness had not yet fully returned and his hands drifted, instinctually, down to caress the feminine head at his mid-section. It seemed that the lightest touch caused the raven-haired beauty to push harder and take him deeper into her throat.
The beauteous brunette held him there at the limit, her lips, tongue and throat muscles working around his cock, squeezing and caressing, trying to draw the come out of him. At last, she pulled away, gasping for breath, and turned her head up toward him.
"Good morning, baby. I know that's how you like it in the morning."
Mike stared in disbelief at his mother's beautiful, glistening face. He leapt from his bed like a scalded cat. His back hit the wall of his room and he stood there, the shock washing over him.
"Michael, don't push me away," his mother, Jennifer, cooed to him. She rose from his bed like a goddess and took a step towards him.
"Stop!" he commanded. Obediently, she complied.
"Don't you want me, Michael? After your father died, I needed someone to help me, to care for me. I thought it was you. I thought that you loved me. Was I mistaken?"
His mother seemed close to tears. His heart went out to her. She had taken his father's death hard, too hard.
"I do love you, mother. But, could you just leave for a moment, please?"
Obediently, again, she withdrew.
How could this happen, he wondered? It had never come on like this before, not while he was asleep. The Compulsion didn't work unless he concentrated on it. But this time, he had done it in his sleep. And to his own mother. He didn't know what to think about that.
Michael Connors was a high school senior: dark-haired, blue-eyed and in good physical condition. He was tall at six-foot-three, and muscular. He was pretty much normal in every way, except for one.
Mike could control minds. He called it the Compulsion. It had started about a year ago. He didn't know why or how he could do it. The origin of the power was a mystery to him. It wasn't very powerful and it didn't always work perfectly, but sometimes other people would follow his orders and even his unspoken desires. When it worked, the Compulsion allowed him to control other peoples' behavior, distort their memories and alter their emotions, perceptions and thinking, but all in minor ways.
Until now, that is.
Mike realized that he was late for school and quickly dressed.
Leaving his room, Mike heard the shower running and wondered if Jennifer was okay. He pushed the door open and entered. Mike stared at the form of his mother slowly moving behind the glass, in the shower.
With long black hair and blue eyes, Jennifer Connors strongly resembled her son, albeit a very feminine version of him. She was 42 years old, but looked perhaps ten years younger, with a beautiful, nearly ageless face. She sported high cheekbones and creamy, flawless skin. Her breasts were a D-cup, Mike knew, but seemed even larger on her slender frame. In height, she was a dreamy five-foot-ten.
A few seconds passed. Mike was enraptured by the sight of his mother. She never failed to arouse him. Only this time, she was nude and only a few feet away. Not counting the scene a couple of minutes ago, he had never seen her naked. To be honest, he didn't remember much about those few seconds.
Jennifer opened her eyes, saw him through the glass and yelped. "Michael, what the hell are you doing in here?"
Mike hastily withdrew from the bathroom. "Sorry mom. I have to hurry to get to school. See you, tonight."
Mike grabbed his pack and ran out the door before she could say more.
Mike should have been embarrassed, but he was relieved. She was back to normal. He had been half-afraid that she would stay like that, his mind-slave, forever. Or that she would have remembered what had happened.
Mike left the house and saw that Jim's car was waiting to pick him up. Mike jumped in and it took off.
James O'Neil had been friends with Mike for years and was a senior at his high school, as well. He was brown-haired, dark-eyed, as tall as Mike, but not so big, nor as strong in the chest or shoulders. He was attractive and seemed to get more attention from the girls then Mike did.
"How was your weekend, man?" Jim asked.
"Okay, I guess," Mike answered, thinking of the incident with his mother. She had been unbelievable, actually, but she had left Mike a bit confused as to his feelings or about what to do about his problem.
"My sister came home from college," Jim said.
"For the weekend?"
Mike shook his head. "What did your mother say?"
"What do you think? First my father leaves her and then my sister ditches college. She's a wreck."
Mike thought about Claire O'Neil, Jim's mother. She was a pretty woman, his mother's age, and she had always been nice to him. But she had always had problems with Ashley, Jim's sister. Maybe he would stop by and talk to her, to see if she needed anything. He had known Claire most of his life and had always liked her.
"Something is going on with Ashley," Jim said. "But I can't figure out what. My mom doesn't know what to do. I wish that I could help her, but she doesn't trust me at all."
They didn't speak for the rest of the drive. Jim pulled into the high school and parked.
"We're late again," Jim said.
"Translate: screwed," Mike replied.
Jim knew a door that was usually still unlocked at this time and together, they took off around back and tried to sneak in. It worked and they were inside.
"Coast is clear," Jim said after peeking around a hallway corner. "I'll see you at lunch."
"Right," Mike said, as they split off to go to their respective classrooms. "See you, then."
As luck (or unluck?) would have it, he almost immediately ran into Mrs. Adams, his history teacher.
Catherine Adams was an attractive woman in her early thirties. Her clothes were a bit plain and her blonde hair was always worn up, but the slenderness of her face and figure, and the eyeglasses that she wore, only served to entice the male students more.
Besides, as every guy knew, brainy was sexy.
"Mrs. Adams," he responded.
"How many times does this make in the past week?" she asked.
"I'm sure I don't know, Mrs. Adams."
She stood with her arms crossed under her breasts, her lovely green eyes peering over those sexy glasses. Mike briefly considered using the Compulsion on her, but after a second, he put the thought from his mind. She waited, still looking at him, as if expecting him to answer. For a split second, he imagined those green eyes peering at him over those glasses, while sucking on his stiff cock.
Catherine's hand immediately reached out to touch him. Long fingers trailed down his chest to alight on the bulge of his crotch.
"You look wonderful today, Michael. Have you been working out? Your chest seems larger, somehow." It wasn't his chest she was feeling.
The Compulsion. Shit. He could get in serious trouble this way.
"Perhaps you and I could get better acquainted," she said, smiling. Her lips pursed and she tried to kiss him.
"But, but... Mrs. Adams, aren't you married?" Mike desperately looked around to make sure no one was coming. If someone saw him, he would be so screwed. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the attention, but it was a little too public for his comfort.
"My husband doesn't appreciate me. He barely knows that I exist, Michael. He works all day to buy me things, when all I really want is his attention. You know how to show attention to a woman, don't you, Michael?"
"I, ah, have to get to first period, Mrs. Adams. I'm sorry." He took her hand in his and moved it away from his jeans.
"Catherine," she corrected.
"Right, Catherine," he said as he quickly turned away. Desperately, Mike tried to blank his mind. He had to stop her from following the wild images he was broadcasting into her mind's eye. He started to walk away.
"Stop," she said, suddenly. "You're going to have to go the office and speak with Miss Walsh."
Mike blinked and turned back. Mrs. Adams was back to her normal self. It had worked. Something like that had never worked, before. Maybe he was gaining a new level of control over his abilities. Usually, a Compulsion could not be changed once planted in someone's mind.
"Well?" she said, expectantly.
"On my way, Catherine." And he took off towards the office, leaving her with her mouth hanging open.
Mike entered the principal's office and passed the secretary's desk.
"Smile," the secretary, Cameron Cox, said and took a picture of him with a small, digital camera that she always kept nearby. She waved him past. She knew why he was here.
As Mike approached Miss Walsh's office, he could hear what sounded like voices, angry voices.
Just then, Samantha Collins exited the room. She was moving fast and Mike couldn't step aside quickly enough. She crashed into him, not hard, but hard enough to give him a good feel of the firm, athletic, 34-C breasts of hers. Her strong, almost masculine, features filled his vision and her angry dark eyes stared into his, as if ordering him aside. Or, maybe, she was daring him to touch her again.
"Excuse me," the blonde-haired gym teacher snapped. With a fling of her short hair, she stepped to his side and was gone.
"A problem, Mr. Connors?" a sultry voice asked.
Mike looked up and saw Principal Robin Walsh glaring at him with her stunning dark eyes.
"No problem, Miss Walsh," Mike said, automatically.
"Inside," she ordered.
Robin Walsh was very tall, only a couple inches shy of six feet, with emotional dark eyes and fabulous jet-black hair that reminded Mike of his mother. She wore a dark jacket and skirt, a red blouse, and high heels that made her taller than nearly every student in school, including many of the guys. Her face was beautiful and mature.
Though she didn't seem or even look aged, by any means, she definitely exuded maturity. Sometimes, she seemed even more mature then Jennifer, Mike's mother, but was actually a couple of years younger, he thought.
Mike stepped inside and sat in one of the chairs.
Robin closed the door and sat, her firm breasts giving an almost imperceptible jump. Her dark hair settled across her shoulders. "You're late, again."
"Sorry, Miss Walsh."
"Honestly, Mike, I don't know what to do with you."
"What was wrong with Coach Sam?"
"That's her business, not yours."
Mike looked across the desk and made eye contact. Almost unbidden, the Compulsion reached out and took hold of her. "Tell me," he said, firmly.
Oops. He did it again.
"She... was... upset with me," Robin said, hesitantly. "It was my fault. I wasn't paying enough attention to her and she though that I was... attracted to... another man. I suppose that it's probably over between us, now. I should have done something. I should have said something."
Mike blinked at what she had said. Hello! "Miss Walsh... Robin... are you and Sam having an affair? Are you a lesbian?"
"Yes. And, no, not exactly," she told him. "I do like men."
Wow. That was unexpected. Mike's face held a devious look.
"Are you sure you like men, Miss Walsh? I mean, how do you know? I've never seen you with anyone or seen you show any attraction to anyone in particular." He paused. "Maybe you should prove it to me."
He had her snared, now. He could feel it. He could feel her, in his mind. Damn, he shouldn't have done that.
Deftly, Robin stood and walked around the desk to stand before him. Her hands went to hem of her skirt and she lifted it up to her waist. Underneath, she wore a lacy black pair of panties.
"Touch me, please, Michael," she practically begged.
"Ah, what the hell?" Mike thought. "Why am I fighting it? I might as well live a little." He complied with her request, his fingers coming into contact with the filmy material and feeling the heat beneath.
"Take them off," he ordered. "Give them to me."
She slid the panties off her long legs and dropped them in his lap. Mike picked them up and inhaled, savoring the smell of her. Putting them in his pocket, he unzipped his pants and set his bulging cock free. Eight inches of cock stuck straight up.
Robin's hand made contact with his penis. Her fingers locked around his manhood, firm and strong. Stronger than he expected.
"You're a strong woman, Miss Walsh."
"You like that?" she cooed. "A woman who works out?"
"Show me your breasts, Miss Walsh," he ordered. "Now." In seconds, she was out of her jacket and blouse and her sumptuous orbs hung free. "You're not wearing a bra, Miss Walsh," Mike pointed out.
"I never do," she said. "It's too confining for my comfort."
Mike grabbed at her and she returned her hand to his cock. For a few moments, they were face to face, him sitting and her bending over towards him, his hands caressing her, her jacking his cock, softly.
She dropped to her knees, without hesitation.
"Jack me off onto your mature fucking face, Robin."
She jacked him, hard, pounding her hand up and down his meat.
"Grab your breast," Mike said. "Put your finger in your mouth."
Mike watched the lovely lady follow his instructions. He couldn't believe his eyes. His beautiful principal was jacking his cock off in her office, with who knew how many people just outside. This was great.
Almost as cool as his mother blowing him this morning. Mike winced. He couldn't believe he had thought that. Still, it made him think of something wild.
"Fucking blow me, Miss Walsh," he ordered, hopefully.
Eagerly, Robin put her mouth on his cock and slurped him inside. He felt his cock thrust down her throat and she gagged. She pulled back for a moment and then thrust herself forward again, taking him down. Another gag, another thrust. Again and again.
Michael was in heaven. Every nerve in his body was tingling. He found that he couldn't ignore the sensation in his groin.
"I'm coming! I'm coming, Miss Walsh! Jack me, now!"
She jacked him, furiously, for a few more strokes, until his come came surging forth to splash on her mature face. Once, twice, three times he spurted, coating her face with dripping jizz.
"Oh, Oh. Ooooh god, Robin!"
She deposited the last few spurts on her lips and kissed and licked them.
"That's right. Lick it off, Robin."
She complied, her eyes holding his the whole time. "Can I do anything else for you, Mr. Connors?"
"Actually, yes. I want you to make up with Samantha. And I want you to bring Sam to the guy's locker room, today at lunchtime."
"Anything for you," she cooed.
Mike pulled his pants up. "And I need an excuse for missing class."
When Michael entered his psychology class, it was already almost over. His teacher, Elizabeth Mahoney, watched him as he walked in.
Mike quickly took a seat next to a redhead named Abigail Prescott. She was friends with him. At least, he hoped she was. He actually had a bit of a crush on her. Abigail smiled at him. Her deep blue eyes were set in a pretty face. They seemed to hypnotize him.
Liz spoke without missing a beat. "Now, can anyone tell me what a neurosis it."
Abigail quickly answered: "A psychological state characterized by excessive anxiety or insecurity without evidence of neurologic or other organic disease, sometimes accompanied by defensive or immature behaviors."
It was probably a near-textbook definition. Abby had mentioned to Mike once that she had an eidetic memory. "See it, remember it," Mike had heard her say.
"Right," Miss Mahoney said. "The exact cause of neuroses are unknown. What is known is that they compel the sufferer to take actions based upon false reasoning. Can anyone give me an example of a neurosis?"
Miss Mahoney looked at Mike, intently.
"Great," he thought.
Mike met the brunette's eyes. "Sorry. You got me."
Liz Mahoney's chocolate-colored brown eyes narrowed as she studied him. Mike studied her right back. She was in her mid-thirties, modest in height, with long brown hair and a pair of full, red lips that Mike thought were perfectly made for kissing. Her face was almost a bit plain, but the body it was attached to more than made up for any perceived imperfections.
"Anyone have an example?"
The answer brought a round of laughter from the class. Everyone but Abigail, who scoffed openly and rolled her eyes.
Mike turned to stare at the girl who had answered.
Julie Winters was a slender girl with long black hair and enchanting dark eyes. Enchanting, but cold. Her father owned the biggest bank in town and her mother was a well-known beauty and a stuck-up socialite. Julie was on the short side, at five-foot-two, but her face could have graced the cover of any teen's or woman's magazine. It was cold, too.
"Love is nothing more than an obsessive-compulsive behavior that we all engage in," Julie continued. "We claim not to know why we do it, why we submit to another's demands and desires, why we humiliate ourselves for another's benefit. So we say that it is love and we give it some cosmic significance. In reality, it's a mental illness."
"Well, that's one way to see it," Liz said, taken aback.
Abigail jumped in, quickly. "Miss Mahoney, surely you understand that love is inherently important. It's not some sort of delusion. True love is something that humanity has aspired to attain for its entire history. Poetry, literature and historical events are replete with the effects of love. It's as much a part of the human condition as eating and breathing are. I refuse to believe that all of us are suffering from an inexplicable mass insanity."
Liz opened her mouth to speak.
Julie answered first, retorting: "Love, lust or romance. It all comes down to screwed-up thoughts in our brains. There's no great mystique, Abby. You have to control your emotions, or you can forget about landing a rich man. But then, on second thought, never mind. You'll never find one, anyway."
Abigail stared at her.
Just then, the buzzer buzzed the end of period.
Liz spoke up, quickly. "Read chapter twelve for tomorrow, everyone. Mr. Connors, stay for a moment."
Mike sighed as he looked at Abigail. He gave her a quick smile and spoke. "Don't mind her, Abby. Julie's just kind of a bitch."
Abby smiled at him. The enchanting smile lit up her face. It was definitely the most attractive part of her, and the rest certainly wasn't bad.
"Thanks, Mike. I'll see you next period." She watched him as she left the room.
Mike stepped up to Miss Mahoney. "I have an excuse."
"Mike, I'm worried about you. You're always late, you don't do your homework and you don't study very hard. Is there something going on with you? Something I can help you with?"
A thought suddenly occurred to Mike. "What do you know about compulsions, Miss Mahoney?"
"A little bit. Are you saying you have a psychological problem?"
"Think of this as a hypothetical question, Miss Mahoney. Is it possible for someone to affect another person's actions and thoughts?"
"I'm not sure what you mean." She crossed her arms over her ample bosom.
"I mean is it possible for a person to influence another, causing him or her to do what that person wants them to do?"
"Of course, we do it every day," Liz said.
"I'm talking about actual physical control," Mike said.
"Mind control? Without threats or coercion? I'd say that's not possible. Are you in some kind of trouble, Mike?"