Published: April 12th 2021, 12:05:29 am
Author's Note: I announced last month that I would add fiction to my Patreon output. I took a poll on story ideas. This is not that story. I am working on that story, and it will be available later this month. This began as a vignette that I jotted down because it got stuck in my brain and I wanted to get it out. I thought it would morph into an audio script, but it sternly wanted to remain a prose piece. I ended up liking it, so I decided to post it here. Enjoy.
Tags: [Prose] [Dark] [Arguably CNC Adjacent] [Car]
Story:
The Scorpion by April Would
Suzy P. felt him as soon as she walked into the market. She gathered her things—a carton of milk, a block of cheese, a box of garbage bags, and two bottles of beer—before she settled on the line, and still she felt him, right behind her, immediately. There was one person ahead of her, and she took the opportunity to look behind her, over her shoulder. There he was.
He was tall.
Taller. Considerably, taller.
They made eye contact.
He wore glasses, and the eyes behind them were blue, startling. She met them as if to say, I know you were looking at my ass, and indeed, he had been.
He shrugged, grinning broadly.
She saw him for who he was, for his nature, and she accepted it. She thought he might try to throw her down right there, but he didn’t.
He stood behind her while she bought her things and left the market, carrying them in a brown paper bag, with her purse over her shoulder. She felt him follow her.
He let her get as far as the corner before he grabbed her elbow. He breathed into her ear, “Follow me.” And she did.
She followed him into a parking lot a block from the market, one of those out of the way spots filled with cars that have no immediate purpose. It was New York, after all, and no one really needs to drive.
When they got close to his car, she dropped the grocery bag.
He pushed her down on the backseat, and reached under her skirt, and while she worried about the spilled groceries and the windows revealing everything, there was nothing to say.
He moved again, and again. She gasped, earnestly, against his neck, even as his large hand clenched around her throat, and she pressed her thighs around his hips.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I…. don’t….”
“Tell me.”
“You’re hurting me.”
“You love it.”
“What?
“I can tell.”
“Shit.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“…no.”
“Are you sure?”
“Please?”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know.”
“You do. Who are you?”
“Goddamn it.”
“Do you not want it? I’ll let you out.”
“I do, please.”
“I want to hear what you want.”
“I want it, please.”
“Want what?”
“I….ohh…yes.”
“What?”
“Yes!”
And, eventually, he listened.
Afterward, she sat up in the backseat and cleared her throat. There was still nothing to say. He had ripped her stockings down the middle, leaving her surprised and shaken and infinitely full. She would have to go home like that now, in front of everyone.
He reached over and opened her car door without a word. She got out and began picking the groceries up off the pavement. He watched her, slowly, and when she wasn’t looking, he drove away.
She walked the two blocks home, wobbling slightly. When she climbed to the top of her stairs, she called out; her roommate wasn’t there. She put everything away except for one of the beer bottles, miraculously unbroken. She opened it and tried to take a pull, but there was too much foam.
She sat down at the kitchen table and, after a few minutes, laughed softly, rubbing her bare thighs together; she was still wet.
He had given her a number which she had copied down on the side of the grocery bag. She looked at it, trembling, trying to remember his voice.
She waited, and listened to the quiet, which in the sudden solitude felt restless.
She already knew she would need to be provoked, again.
The End