Page 9 of Compulsion

Fuck your consequences.

GentAnon

Such a dirty mouth for a sweet girl. I’ll tame that tongue of yours with my cock down your pretty throat.

My clit pulses, and a familiar thrill dances up my spine—sharp sparks that prickle their way over my scalp, as though he’s pulling my hair while he forces his cock into my unwilling mouth.

CagedBird

I’ll scream. Someone will hear.

GentAnon

We both know you won’t. No one will save you from me. The threat of my knife is enough to keep you quiet. Besides, you’ll be too busy swallowing my cum to scream.

For an awful moment, my attacker’s cold blade kisses my neck in a phantom cut. My hands still as though his gloved fingers are shackling my wrists again. A whimper catches in my constricted throat.

What am I doing?

I came while I was violated last night, and now I’m seeking to relive the same thrill with my sexy pen pal.

This isn’t a distraction. It’s not catharsis.

It’s a sick compulsion.

I’ve made myself a magnet for predatory men. They must be able to sense that some part of me wants it. I deserve what happened to me last night. My filthy messages with GentAnon are proof of that.

It’s why I won’t go to the cops to report the assault. And the prospect of scandalizing my family with a story in the news makes my stomach churn.

I swallow against the burn at the back of my throat and snap my laptop closed. My phone immediately pings with an alert. GentAnon has sent me another message.

I can’t face it. Sharing my inner darkness is too shameful to bear, even with my anonymous pen pal.

I scramble to my feet and stumble toward my beloved easel, moving through my small apartment in a drunken lurch. The soft glow of my lamps doesn’t fully illuminate the space, but it’s only right for me to paint this forbidden scene while cloaked in shadow.

My brush moves over the blank canvas in feverish strokes. I make a desperate attempt to release my inner darkness through my art.

A macabre white skull coalesces on my canvas, and striking green eyes blaze from its black sockets.

5

DANE

“You’ll bail me out if I get caught?” The thief swipes sweat from his tanned brow, which is too youthful to show any signs of age. He can’t be more than twenty, but he’s already chosen a life of crime. I found him dealing drugs to a couple of kids younger than he is.

Even if I possessed a conscience, it would be at peace; manipulating this little shit doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

“You won’t get caught,” I say, more of a threat than a reassurance. I’ve made it clear that there will be consequences if he goes blabbing to the cops. “And what I’ve already paid you is more than enough to cover any bail. You’ll get the other half after.”

His tongue darts out to lick his thin, chapped lips—a sign of nervousness or greed?

It doesn’t matter. He’s a means to an end.

“Remember,” I add coolly. “You don’t know me. You’ve never seen my face.”

He swallows hard when I flip the knife in an idle threat and deftly catch the hilt. His shaved head bobs in a frantic nod.

“I remember,” he agrees quickly, voice cracking slightly. “I just want my money.”

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