Curse of the Nymphomaniac

Kimberly wants to be good, but how can she when being bad feels so much better? Ever since she unearthed a strange artifact in the desert, this beautiful scientist has been cursed with a relentless sexual desire. It's a delicious addiction, but it's ruining her life! Can she discover a way to break the spell, or will she spread her legs for every man in Cleveland?

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

While they chit-chatted their way through the awkward phase of getting to know each other, she watched his eyes, his mouth, his nervous hands. Scott was probably a sweet but succinct lover. Going down on her would be his most daring gambit between the sheets. He'd want to maintain direct, unswerving eye contact while they made love, and get embarrassed if either of them made too much noise.

A perfect gentleman or a perfect wet blanket, she didn't care. It was all she needed tonight. If they actually had chemistry, if there was anything remotely hot behind his dumb, doe eyes, she'd be in trouble.

She hadn't counted on the waiter.

From the moment he seated them at their table his eyes were taking surreptitious dives down her cleavage. The looks were fleeting, furtive, and he always turned to Scott afterwards with a smile. The man had slicked back hair and weasel eyes, and under different circumstances she might not even notice the looks, or not care. But from the first she knew he'd be trouble. Looks would lead to dirty thoughts, and the dirtier his thoughts the hornier she'd have to be. That was how the curse worked.

She was reduced to rocking in her seat to ease the throbbing ache in her bottom. Every hole in her body wanted to be filled — even the most inconvenient ones. When the waiter returned, she felt his desire pass over her like a hot cloud. She moaned aloud when he poured fresh water in Scott's glass.

Both men stared at her, one intrigued, the other scared. Kimberly's eyes locked onto the waiter's…and a devilish smirk bent his face.

When he'd gone Scott leaned over the table. “Do you know him?”

“Um, no.” She chewed on a nail. “I mean, no. I mean, maybe. Sorry. I have to use the bathroom.”

“Didn't you just-?" His words were swallowed up by the ringing in her ears. She rushed between the crowded tables, flames licking at her tender buttocks. Men turned to watch her pass. Was she so extraordinarily desirable? Or did all men need to picture her naked before they went back to chewing their garlic bread?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she felt it too. She felt the waiter's desire reflected and magnified inside her. If she didn't act on it, she'd explode. She wasn't sure if she'd literally explode, but when the urge came over her, when she absolutely had to have it, her heart beat like a rabbit with twenty wolves on its tail. She needed him. He overwhelmed her senses. His smell, his eyes. She longed for the feel of his fingers in her hair. Tight, curling fingers. Needed him. Needed to please him.

He was thinking of her. The hornier he got the sharper the connection became. He was thinking what he'd like to do to her, right there on the table. If she hadn't gotten up when she did, she would have begged him to, right there in front of Scott. No, she couldn't control the curse, but she knew how it worked and could at least channel her nymphomania to where it would bring her the least embarrassment.

The least humiliation.

The least shame.

Oh, but she wanted to be shamed. She wanted to be controlled, dominated, spanked, penetrated. She wanted to submit.