By Lisabet Sarai
The middle of the room was dominated by a pool table, a well of brightness in the otherwise dim interior. Two men, apparently the only customers, were engaged in a game. They did not look up when she entered.
She settled herself on a bar stool and ordered a beer. They did not sell wine. The bartender was a slender, nerdy young man who seemed out of place in these rough surroundings. He put the amber bottle in front of her, and then retreated to the opposite end of the bar. From there, he cast furtive glances at her while he polished the glasses.
Miranda turned her attention to the two pool players. Their looks were much more in keeping with the environment. Both wore tight jeans and T-shirts that had seen better days. Both had lurid tattoos on their biceps. One of them was small, lithe and wiry, with a drooping moustache and a red bandanna on his head. The other was a huge, bear-like man. He had a luxurious mop of ragged, greasy-looking black curls. A livid scar ran down one of his cheeks, giving him a disquietingly crooked smile that was almost a grimace. As if responding to her attention, he looked up from the game and directed one of those smiles at her. His teeth were sparkling white.
Miranda felt strange, hot and cold simultaneously. She felt her nipples tightening, pushing out the fabric of her top. Moisture gushed into her panties. Normally she would find these men frightening, or perhaps faintly disgusting. Tonight, she saw them quite differently.
“Hey, baby!” said the thin one. “Come on over and play a game with us.”
Without hesitation, she picked up her beer, slipped off the stool and strolled over to the billiard table. She was acutely aware of the way her hips swayed, clad in tight denim. She felt her unfettered breasts bounce with each step. I must look like a slut, she thought, ridiculously pleased with herself.
“Hello, guys,” she said. “How’s the night treating you?”
The burly man winked at her. “Better all the time,” he said. “So, you know how to play pool?”
“More or less. You try to get the balls into the holes.” Miranda smiled archly, and her companions snickered.
“Yeah, right, using one of these sticks.” Gypsy-hair handed her a cue, and pointed to the white ball on the green baize. “Go ahead, babe. Give it a try.”
Miranda took her time. Slowly, she rubbed the little blue nugget of chalk over the tip of the cue, as if she were rubbing her finger over her clit. The image had the expected results. Her sex throbbed in time with her pulse.
She bent over the table to take aim, her buttocks in the air. She found it hard to concentrate on the shot. She could feel the denim riding up over her thighs. Her bikini panties were probably visible. Did her companions catch a whiff of her musk as she leaned forward? She could swear she could smell herself.
A lock of her long hair fell across her shoulder, interfering with her aim. Before she could react, Bandanna lifted it with one finger and flipped it back. He smoothed her rippling mane down her back, then brazenly fondled her butt. She looked him in the eye and smiled. “No fair. You’re messing up my concentration.”
Bandanna grinned. “Sorry, baby. Go ahead, shoot.”
She made one last calculation, and sent the cue ball precisely in the desired direction. The six ball caromed off the far rim and headed straight into the closest pocket. The seven ball rolled directly into the corner pouch, just as she had intended.
Her audience applauded. “That was some shot! You’re really good.” Their lascivious stares seemed tempered by genuine admiration.
Miranda looked from one to the other. The heat between her legs was unbearable. She hiked herself up so that she was sitting on the billiard table, and spread her thighs wide. “Boys, you have no idea how good I am.”
The two bikers looked at each other in disbelief, then back at her. Impatient, Miranda pulled her skirt to her waist, lifted herself off the table, and pulled off her underwear. Playfully, she threw the wisp of silk at Gypsy-hair. “What are you waiting for?” she said. “I haven’t got all night, you know.”
- From Incognito
Our topic this week, courtesy of Kathleen, is “Dangerous Games, Wicked Women”. Although I wouldn't say this is typical of my stories, I've written a few dangerous games in my time. The round of billiards commencing with the snippet above is a prime example. By the conclusion of this scene, Miranda's every orifice has been filled with cocks, sticks and balls. As a finale, she blows the bartender.
Dangerous games indeed. After I wrote this scene, I wondered if it was too extreme to publish. Everything about it is dangerous—the scruffy strangers, the underlying hint of violence, the filthy surroundings and of course the lack of condoms. When you're consumed with frustrated lust, hot enough to accost two thugs in a seedy backstreet bar, you're not thinking about safe sex. (Well, I don't actually know this—this scene definitely came full-blown out of my imagination rather than being based on personal experience. But that's what my characters told me!)
Wicked women? Not really my speciality either, but Ruby Maxwell Chen comes pretty close. She's ambitious, calculating, and devious, ready to do pretty much anything to get her way. In Ruby's Rules she challenges the equally Machiavellian Rick Martell to a game with outrageous stakes.
I need to break this embrace in order to gain the upper hand. I need to take advantage of his moment of weakness. But his carnal attentions are intoxicating. It’s difficult for me to break away. I’m like an alcoholic, wanting just one more drink, one more kiss, one more of his lewd caresses.
It might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I finally manage to gather my strength and push him away. He doesn’t resist, just stands there looking at me. His clothes are wrinkled. One shirt tail is hanging out of his pants. His longish hair is tangled around his ears. In objective terms, he looks a bit pathetic. Certainly not what one would call sexy.
Yet my heart is slamming away like a jackhammer in my chest. I’m panting as though I’ve just done fifty sit ups, and damp—all over. His peppermint pipe tobacco flavor lingers in my mouth. The echoes of his questing hands linger on my skin. The lack of his touch is a physical ache. I need those hands, those lips, that brash cock, need the relief that it seems only he can provide.
Be strong. Be ice. “What would you do?” I hold his eyes. “What would you give, to have me? Would you give up the foundry if I gave my body to you?”
I could swear that something like shame clouds his features briefly, then his eyes flash. “You can have the damned foundry, Ruby. I won’t stand in your way. I won’t fight you anymore. Regardless.” Before I can stop him, he reaches out his hand and strokes my cheek. “In any case, Ruby, I want more than just your body.”
His voice is barely audible, but something leaps up inside me in answer. Excitement, fear, anger? I’m not sure what it is. I only know that it races through my body and turns me to liquid weakness. It’s a long moment before I can frame a scornful reply.
“What do you want, American devil? My soul?”
He laughs, sheepishly. “How about your friendship? Your honesty?”
“You’re a fine one to talk about honesty!”
“Yes, I know, you’re right. But we got off to a bad start, with our plots and counter plots. Perhaps we can start over.”
He sounds sincere. There’s no trace of that sardonic smile. But he’s broadcasting those weird sexual signals of his, loud and clear. I don’t trust him.
“We’re born to be rivals, Rick. Opponents, competitors, on opposite teams. We each have too strong a desire to win to give up our victory to the other. My father recognized this. That’s why he never told me about you.”
“But I’m conceding defeat. The foundry is yours.”
“I know. But that’s not enough. That doesn’t compensate me for the humiliation you’ve caused me. Not to mention Margaret.”
He winces visibly at the mention of Margaret’s name. Pangs of conscience? Then he shrugs his shoulders.
“I’m sorry to have humiliated you. I’ve apologized to Margaret already. Now—can we be friends?”
I pull myself to my full five foot two inches of height. His magnetism is overwhelming. I need to end this conversation soon, before I surrender to that carnal attraction once again.
“You don’t want a friend, you want a fuck.”
The old grin creeps back. “Well, if that’s all that you can offer...”
“I have a proposal.”
“I’m all ears.”
I glance down at his tented trousers and smile sweetly. “I doubt that. In any case: you want me, sexually. And I admit that I have some attraction to you. But we’re natural adversaries, neither one willing to submit.”
He nods, attentive.
“So, I propose that we undertake a formal contest, with our bodies as the prize.”
“I gather that you play Go. Wei ch’i. I’ve been playing since I was a child. We will face each other across the Go board and move the ancient stones. The loser agrees to physically submit to the winner for one night. The winner may take whatever liberties he or she wishes, provided that the loser suffers no permanent harm.”
“God, Ruby! You can’t be serious.”
“Of course I am. You like to play games. You like to win. Here’s a chance to play for the highest stakes. Your own freedom and will, against mine.” I smile again, sweetness tinged with irony. “Are you afraid to take up this challenge? Liu said that you were an excellent player.”
“I never managed to beat him. And I’ll bet that he taught you to play.”
I nod, delighting in his nervousness. “Who else? So. What is your response?”
“I don’t know. I think the cards are stacked against me in this contest. I’m not sure that it’s worth it.”
“A chance to fuck me isn’t worth risking your own hide?” I find myself angry, despite my desperate efforts to remain cool and detached. For a moment, I consider sweetening the pot by adding the foundry to the stakes. Then I stop myself short. What am I thinking of? Risking my business on this purely personal feud? My father would be appalled.
- From Ruby's Rules
Probably the most truly wicked woman I've created is Mai, the Thai vampire in “Fourth World”. In her own eyes, though, she's not evil. She's just a girl who wants to have fun.
Mai sits back on her heels. She grips our cocks roughly, making us squirm. “Lovely,” she purrs. “Two gorgeous young studs at my command. Who wants to go first?”
Me! Take me! I want to cry, but something holds me back.
“Jeremy’s the one on holiday. I think I’ll take him first. Are you ready?”
He nods. Speech has deserted him as well. Mai straddles him and lowers her body, painting his knob with her pussy juice. Jeremy moans and jerks his hips upward. The diabolical beauty pulls away before he can enter her. “Now darling, I’m the one in charge. You just relax and have a good time.”
Jeremy sinks back onto the bed. Mai repositions her cunt and lowers herself onto his cock, swallowing his length inch by inch.
“Ah...” He looks as though he’s going to explode any instant. I’m holding on to control by a hair myself, just watching her play with him. She tenses, obviously contracting her inner muscles. He moans again, louder than before.
Mai lays a finger on his lips. “Don’t come yet, little boy. I want you to last a long, long time.” Her finger meanders down over his chin, tracing the line of his throat, down between his erect nipples. As it travels, she increases the pressure. I can see the indentation of her sharp fingernail. By the time she reaches his solar plexus, a red trail follows the finger’s progress. Very slowly, she slices through the skin of his belly, centimeter by centimeter, watching his face. He seems to be in ecstasy.
Blood wells up from the cut. She gathers some with her fingers, licks it off, her eyes closed as if she’s savoring the taste. “Lovely,” she murmurs. “Truly delicious.”
She rocks back and forth on his cock, wringing choked groans from Jeremy’s throat. “Magnificent,” she sighs. Her dagger-like nails open a wound across his right breast. This one is deeper, and bleeds more. Mai bends to lap hungrily at the red fountain. At the same time she pumps him with her pussy, writhing on top of him.
The more blood she drinks, the more excited she becomes. Her nails flash across Jeremy’s torso, carving bloody furrows into his fair skin. Her mouth sucks the ruddy fluid that trickles from a gash near his collarbone. She licks up the gore that pools in his navel. All the while she is bouncing on his obviously still hard cock, moaning and twisting, grinding her pelvis against him.
Then she stops suddenly, breathing hard, her alabaster breasts damp with sweat. “But I should save something for poor Harry, shouldn’t I? You can come, though, little one.” She arches back, and Jeremy yells, again and again. She is milking him, pulling the come from his body. At the same time, she slashes her lethal nails across his throat.
- From “Fourth World”, in The Sweetest Kiss: Ravishing Vampire Erotica (edited by D.L.King)
No, I don't write danger or wickedness all that often. But perhaps I should!