The Greatest Trick the Devil Ever Pulled (THE KINKSTER) - fantasy fiction

The Set-up 

In this city, POWER wore perfume and leather. TEMPTATION tasted like sweet melons. And DESIRE spoke all the words you ever wanted to hear. The Kinkster understood this fluently.

She was known for calibrated conquest. The enigmatic ways people reorganized themselves around her, without her asking and without them even realizing, was masterful. A team of ethnographers could study her for over a thousand years, comprehending her influence was doubtful. That much was clear.

The Seductress of Sin was a nickname heard in whispers. Yearning for her was never feignedly manufactured; it was something she carefully curated. After all, desire is most potent when it believes it has chosen its own direction.

She arrived at the bar just after dusk, when the lights had dimmed, and the crowd had settled. Instead of claiming the center of the room, she walked to a seat near the edge, a posture of deliberate inconsequence. It was there that she spotted him.

He was an outlier amongst the inner ring of peers, though his demeanor was attentive, and his eyes were bright with interest and deference. He laughed at the clever remarks he could overhear, listening with a hunger that bordered on reverence. He leaned forward whenever he was acknowledged, though this occurrence was rare. His meekness wasn’t hard to spot. It was, without a doubt, what she devoured in men like him. He wanted to please. He wanted to belong. He wanted to offer himself to something or someone larger than his own will.

The Kinkster recognized this immediately.  

Her strategy did not begin with pursuit. It began with allowance.

When his eyes met hers, she offered him an indifferent yet coaxing smile that somehow dared him to walk over to her. It said, “You may approach.” Noticing his slight hesitation, she turned her back to him as he crossed the room.

“Hello,” he offered faintly.

“I’m not a fan of hesitation,” she offered back.

“What do you mean?” he slumped.

“If you’re going to get a real woman’s attention, you need to know how to keep it,” she replied. “You wanted to talk to me, buy me a drink, even, that much is clear. But your instinct was to waiver,” she continued.”

“I’m a little shy, I’ll admit it,” he disclosed.

“Shyness is something that you are. Using it as a crutch isn’t impressive,” she schools. “Shyness is not the lack of purpose. They can both exist at the same time,” she continues.

His shoulders relaxed.

“You can buy me a drink, now,” she prompted. 

Their conversation continued into the night. Before either of them realized, it was time for the bar to close.

“Can I see you again?” He asks.

She slipped him her card, then walks out, hailing a taxi as she leaves.

Looking at her card and noticing it was only an address, he walked away, captivated. On his way home, he recounted their conversation over and over and over again. He came to realize he liked the way she could read his quirks and insecurities. It was almost like she was reading him like a book. He was inexplicably drawn to it. What he wasn’t aware of was that those insecure inclinations were something she had already begun to shape.