Coercion:Curio Vignettes 01(7)By: Cara McKenna
I walk my fingers up her forearm, careful not to cross a line and invite another flight. “How long since you’ve let a man be a man with you, and let yourself be a woman?” When she doesn’t reply, I lean closer. “How long since you’ve enjoyed a man’s mouth or hands or cock?”
She swallows. “I’ve kissed you tonight.”
“With your lips, yes. I would kiss you elsewhere, even more deeply.” The mere idea makes my mouth tingle and water.
She shakes her head.
“How long since a man has made you come?”
Another blush, but she doesn’t rise to leave. “A while.”
“I would give you that, with my tongue. With my fingers or my cock, whichever part of me you wished to invite.”
She bites her lip, and I lean forward to splash the last of the bottle into our glasses. Her eyes widen as though I’ve served her blood still hot from a sacrifice.
I turn to her, my knee pressed to her thigh, and drop my face close to whisper, “I want you.”
She exhales with a tight, sharp huff, as if she’s been struck.
“I’m hard for you now,” I murmur. “Let me show you.”
I feel the need as such a forceful man would, desire careless as a tidal wave, eager for the thrill of the crash. Her body is rigid as I reach for her jaw, holding her face as my lips brush hers. Hands push at my shoulders, their pressure pleading, not fighting. They tell me to stop, but in such a quiet voice, so quiet I know it’s not meant to be heard. I push too, gently, telling her to lie back and let me have my way. She doesn’t obey. But it’s my wine, my home, soon to be my bed and my needs. Everything within these walls is my possession, and she’ll be no less. I will use her—as is my right, since the moment she chose to step across my threshold. In her body I find proof of the desires her lips won’t admit to.
Some women will never ask for the pleasure they want, and they must be given it, by force if necessary.
Or so that is how I imagine such a man would think.
And though I am not such a man outside the bounds of this game, to borrow his greedy delusions ignites a lust, hot and coarse and cruel. It’s chased by the shame—that spice too delicious to resist, yet nearly too strong to suffer. But why eat grapes when one can drink wine? Why behave when sin feels so natural?
Tar me with shame in thick, hot strokes, leave me blacker than midnight.
I suckle her lip, coax her open so that I may come inside and taste her. Against my mouth, I feel her soften. When I slide my hand across her throat and down to hold her breast, she covers it but doesn’t move it away. Her flesh grows hot under my palm, her lips plump and likely tender from what I’ve demanded. It reminds me of Caroly’s sex, swollen with desire, welcoming me into that slick sanctuary where only I have yet been invited. My throat is all at once thick, remembering how she tastes, how her legs tremble against my cheeks when my tongue teases her toward release. How thick I feel when I slip inside her.
This forceful man’s urges tug at me, bullying me to guide her hand to my cock, to open her blouse, to push her down and feel the warm junction between her soft thighs against my hard sex. But her cooperation would make this seduction far easier, so I hold back.
She lets my hand go, moving hers to my shoulder. Yet she doesn’t push me away as I expect—she squeezes, finding something of interest there. Then my arm. I wonder if she feels my triumphant smile as we kiss.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her, words tumbling straight from my mouth to hers. So beautiful and all mine. The man I play could never claim such a prize.
I move my lips to her ear, letting her hear how my voice has grown deep and strained, as rigid and needy as my cock from the lust. “I want you. I wanted you at that bar—for everyone to simply see us together. To think maybe this stunning woman was mine.” And for a night, she will be.
“I don’t usually do this…”
Unseen, I grin sly as a wolf at the surrender in her tone. I nip at her neck and fondle her breast, and though she tenses for a breath, the exhalation leaves her soft and receptive.