#constriction

"don't just stand there you idiot, help me!" you demand, your voice sharp with the impatience of the truly privileged. your curls are wild, clinging to your forehead.

the warrior looks down at you, as if sizing up his prey. he's twice as big in almost every direction, eclipsing you, the faint candlelight blotted out by his silhouette.

"my, you're bein' a pretty nasty bitch for someone who needs my help so badly," he says, not moving. "why should i bother helping a whiny little thing like you?"

then takes a step forward, not to help, but to intimidate. it's getting harder to breathe now, and you can't afford to have some mangled oaf tell talk to you that way.

"my father, the king, will have your head for your insolence," you spit, trying to sound regal, but your breath hitches, betraying your discomfort. a sweaty wheeze whining out from your lips as you try and shove the man with all your might.

he just laughs. "turn around then, if you're in such dire need, milady."

you turn your back to him, bracing yourself on your bedpost. the silk of your shift is thin, practically nonexistent against your skin. you can feel the heat of him behind you, a wall of muscle and malice. his hands are on you then, and they're not gentle. they're rough, calloused, and they're not just on the laces. they're sliding down your back, over the curve of your ass. you flinch, but you don't dare pull away.

"ser, the laces!" you whine as his wayward hands seem to go everywhere but where they need to be. "surely you can't be that stupid."

to your relief, he starts to pull the laces, but not to loosen them. he's pulling them tighter. the corset cinches, the air squeezing out of your lungs in a panicked gasp. "what're you doing?" you choke out, your hands flying to your chest to cover yourself. he pulls tighter again, exposing you as to attempt to wriggle free.

"teaching you a lesson in manners, princess," he growls, his breath hot and foul against your ear. one of his hands leaves the laces and comes around to cup your newly exposed breast, squeezing hard, his thumb rubbing over your nipple until it pebbles, a traitorous response to the rough treatment.

you're struggling, but it's useless. he's too strong. the corset is a vise, stealing your breath, your vision starting to swim at the edges. the room is getting dark. you can feel his other hand fumbling with the ties of your shift, the rough fabric of his breeches pressing against your bare back. "please," you try to say again, but it's just a strangled whimper.