Mercy

by Lucian Bane

  The idea of seeing another human added to his hungry fury, which in turn added to his need for a brutal fight. But that was still two days out, or two fucking years if you asked his desperation.

  He got to the front of the small store and found it empty. Any relief that might have given him was sucked up by his need for confrontation of any kind. He checked the schedule, hoping to find it empty, hoping he’d be driven to desperate measures. Do it life. Just fucking do it, make me. Make me break.

  The phone rang as if in answer to the direct challenge and he jerked it off the receiver. “The Triple S,” he half growled.

  “Uhhh, yes, I was calling to schedule an appointment for a tattoo?”

  Sade thought the voice sounded familiar. “I’m open, what do you want.”

  Again he expected fate to kick him in the balls with some pissy five minute job. He needed a fifteen hour job, something he could get saturated in.

  “Well, I’ve never had a tattoo before,” she said, making him roll his eyes. “How long does it take?”

  “Depends on what you get,” he said pissed. “The bigger and more complex the tattoo, the longer it takes.”

  “Hmm. Do I pick something you have or can I bring my own picture that I want?”

  “I do customs for an extra charge. But depending on what you have, I might be nice.”

  “Oh,” she said, sounding intrigued. “How long would it take to do one that covers my entire backside?”

  Desire slammed his balls at his shocking good fortune. “Depends on the image.”

  “Wings,” she said with a dreamy sounding sigh. “I think I’d like to be an angel.”

  An angel. How quaint at such a fucking time. “Wings.” The idea of the long, agonizing work appealed to his masochistic need but not as much as having this ignorant, vanilla sounding blonde on his table for hours in agony.

  “What? Is that too hard?”

  “Not at all. But you should know it could take hours.”

  “I have time.”

  “As in twelve. And I only break to eat and release.” And he didn’t mean take a piss. Not wanting to lose the customer, he threw in, “but I’d make an exception if you came in today since I have no other work.”

  “Okay perfect,” she said, sounding as elated as his dick felt. “Do I need to bring anything with me? Aspirin? For the pain?”

  “Nope. Just yourself. And two hundred dollars.” A seventy percent discount.

  “Whoa that’s steep. Glad I saved for a rainy day.”

  Yeah, because it’s pouring down sunrays outside. “And cash only.”

  “Got it. On my way. My names Mercy, by the way. And should I bring lunch? Guessing yes.”

  Sade closed his eyes, hating the desperate low he’d just stooped to. And with a woman named Mercy of all fucking things. “Whatever.” And say hello to the ass it always made him into. He wasn’t bad at very many things, but controlling his temper and tongue with the general public was his prized weakness. It was just too easy to beat a motherfucker in the face without the least thought for him.

  ****

  Mercy drove to the tattoo shop, arguing with the voice of her father again. All along the lines of she needed to stop, she was taking this too far, etc. etc. But how else would she get to know the man? This was it. It was a tattoo. She’d wanted a tattoo most of her life anyway. Sure, angel wings covering her entire back was crazy, she could consent to that much. But she wanted something that took enough time to get plenty of information without looking like she was digging.

  She just hoped it didn’t hurt too badly. She’d googled it. Felt like cat scratches. That was nothing, it would probably feel good to her considering her pain tolerance levels. A perk coming from a life of abuse followed by intense physical training in Wing-Chun.

  Not wanting to give him a sexual impression, she dressed in her depressing yoga monk outfit with the pants and top that could pass for a long dress. It had been a little under a week since that night and she worried a little about what he’d look like, or worse, that he’d recognize her.

  Really, if he recognized her, that wasn’t a big deal. Except what was she doing behind the club? She could say she got lost or something.

  Already she was shocked he’d answered the phone. She was expecting to talk to a receptionist not him. And now she was headed over there to get a tattoo that would take twelve hours. Plenty of chat time.

  She parked near the family BDSM club next to the tattoo shop, glad to be going in from the front this time, and in the daylight. She half ran the quarter block to her destination, feeling like something might happen to ruin her good fortune if she didn’t hurry and seize it. Like karma would cut in and say sorry, too slow.

  Opening the door, she walked in and slid her sunglasses to the top of her head, pushing the hair out of her eyes as she made her way to the small counter. Was like a dark little closet in there. She set her black leather purse on the tiled top, looking around at the scheme of dark contrasting colors and abstract lines. Hmm. Somebody paid a decorator.

  Behind the counter a collage of photos with people showing off their tattoos filled the entire wall save one single black door. She scanned the individuals in the pictures, some scarier than the freaky tattoos they bore. Did he do all those? Wow, he was talented. She angled her head at the dude with a werewolf climbing out of his back. It looked so real, like the flesh was actually bloody and torn. She eyed the door briefly as she got out the wing design she’d decided on. And the message she wanted between the wings.

  The door opened and her stomach tensed as he emerged. Wow, she didn’t remember him being so big. But his size was a peripheral notation compared to the discoloration on his face as he approached in a tight black t-shirt. He was definitely into fitness.

  “Was in a little accident,” he said.

  Mercy realized her alarm showed. But then anybody would have that reaction, especially somebody who didn’t know about the incident, as she shouldn’t. “Wow,” she said. “I’d hate to see the windshield. I’m Mercy. Oh yeah, I told you that on the phone already.”

  He chuckled a little and she noticed he still miraculously seemed to have all his teeth. “Yeah. Sade. I don’t think I gave my name.”

  “Hi. Oh,” she said, getting to the reason she was there. “This is the picture I’d like done.” She unfolded the paper and slid it to him. “And these words as well. In between the wings.” She pointed to the writing. “Center of my back?"

  He nodded, staring at it. “Do you know what kind of font that is?”

  “Font?” she looked at it. “Oh, that’s my handwriting.”

  He shrugged a little. “I can try to match it.”

  “Whatever font is easiest is fine.”

  He nodded then looked at her. “So you want the wings over your entire backside.”

  “Entire back, yes.”

  He paused for a moment. “You said backside on the phone.”

  She pursed her lips in confusion and concern. “Uhhh. I meant… entire back… side. Yeah I can see how you misunderstood. Wouldn’t that be… too much?”

  “Too much what?”

  “Work for you?”

  “Not at all, everything is ready. Ink amounts mixed and prepared.”

  Ooookay. She shrugged, not missing his perturbed tone like he wouldn’t be happy if she changed her mind. “That works. Oh shit.”

  He paused, eying her.

  “I’m guessing I’d have to… undress for that.” Wow no-no-no. She hadn’t thought of that. The back was one thing, she could cover her front. But her scars.

  “Yeah?” Like he wasn’t getting the problem. Of course he wasn’t, he did this all the time. “Look,” he said. “This is my job. An ass is an ass, they’re all the same to me. I don’t even like them, honestly.”

  Oh wow. He sounded quite convincing. No doubt lying, but convincing. An ass was an ass. “Okay then. I’m a nurse, so I get that.”

  He paused for a moment, seeming to recall som
ething. Mercy panicked for a second before he walked off. “Follow me through that side door.”

  She glanced to the wall on her left and spotted it hiding in the abstract designs. Hurrying over, she entered a little hall just before a large room with a black, bed type table.

  “Go ahead and remove your clothes in the bathroom on your left, and wrap yourself with the sheet provided.”

  His voice sounded like it came from somewhere in that room. Mercy slipped into the small restroom and shut the door. Lord help her. She hung her purse on the hook behind her and removed the safe monk clothing. Folding all of it and hiding her underwear in between, she set it on a little table in the corner hoping it was okay to put it there.

  When she was wrapped in the black sheet, she stared at the door. Just a tattoo. A very long one. Just an ass. Just a boring ass out of a thousand others.

  She opened the door, not letting herself think about him staring at her butt for all those hours or what he’d think of the scars there. She’d be willing to trade sordid stories if he was. There was always that.

  Chapter Three

  Sade stepped into his private office to change into work clothes, which consisted of tight spandex briefs under loose fitting pants to hide his raging erection. Most of his customers knew him and he was sure a lot knew of his sexual kinks by now but this was a legitimate client.

  His little explosion at his apartment had helped curb his appetite, but thoughts of Tommy between now and then—namely the times Sade had been a dick to him—had him back to square fucking one.

  “What’s in there?”

  Sade turned from his table of tools and found his nosy customer staring through the one-way glass window leading to his special tattoo room. The sheer lust of wanting to work in that room prevented him from saying what he should have. It’s not your concern “It’s a special tattoo room.”

  He was willing to see if she was one of these women who played socialite by day, kink-goddess by night. He could always stand to have a few more of those on standby for the rare but inevitable sexorcisms. They usually only happened once a year and he paid the most seasoned whores well for it. During those episodes, his sadism thrived on breaking them sexually. Some would think a seasoned whore couldn’t be broken but they could. He went until he felt it in their bodies, heard it in their voices. He went until there was blood, and he didn’t stop until he got it. The sexorcism could take hours before his sadism was satisfied which is why he used more than one woman, to avoid killing them. And while his masochism held it at bay, sometimes his sadism won, sometimes that demon would pick the lock and unleash hell for daring to refuse him.

  “Oh?” The angelic look she gave him over her shoulder said she was a hundred years away from entering that room. “Like what?”

  But he could definitely talk about that room. “Like kinky. Come to the table,” he muttered, getting his tools lined up.

  “Kinky,” she repeated, sounding curious. “What does that mean? I mean in the world of tattooing?

  She stood like a dumb lamb, not moving from where she stood. Sade decided she was either spoiled and used to getting her way, or she was stalling. Either of those poked at both his addictions to the point of annoying. “I give tattoos while the customer is tied up in a painful or humiliating position. Sometimes I use dull needles, depending on my mood.”

  She approached the table slowly, her eyes wide in what he could only name as fascinated shock. Not the look she should be giving. “Does it hurt really bad? Are you saying you like hurting them?”

  Sade was careful to not let on what he was thinking since people used that to their advantage. So did he. And he didn’t give over that play to anybody. Her genuine curiosity behind her question coupled with the fact that she seemed to assume he was a nice guy, turned him on as much as it bothered him.

  “It hurts as bad as they want it to.” He eyed her for a moment, debating on how to answer that second question. Did he want her to be afraid of him, or trust him? “Yes. I like hurting them.”

  She suddenly went stealth, masking her emotions and Sade found her reaction interesting but he wasn’t sure why. “So they like to be hurt and you like to… hurt them?”

  He was really surprised she’d turned out brunette. “Everybody likes a little pain sometimes,” he said slowly, taking in her body type now, ready to get to work on her. The small frame would take a lot less time. He would have to go slower.

  “Is there a problem?”

  He raised his gaze to hers. “No, just estimating.”

  She pointed to the table. “If you don’t mind, I’ll start with the kiddie tattoo room.”

  Of course she would. “Remove the sheet.” He turned to his tray of tools, his conflicting desires warring like rabid lovers. One was disappointed to hear what he already knew and the other hungry to mar that perfect skin of hers as a punishment. Like a clean, virgin canvas.

  She let out a sharp yell and he turned to see her fall from the rolling bed onto the floor.

  “Shit.” He hurried around to help her up. “My bad, I forgot to lock the wheels. You okay?”

  The pink in her cheeks gave his cock a shot of heat while part of him also felt like an idiot. “Runaway bed,” she said, pushing hair behind her ear while clutching the sheet to her front.

  He went around and locked the wheels and patted the bed. “There you go.” Again he went back to his table so she could remove the sheet and hop on. She probably fell trying to get on without removing it.

  “Okay,” she said, her voice muffled.

  “Coming,” he muttered, wiping his hands on his cock before turning and standing next to the bed. “First thing I’m going to do is stencil the design onto your body with a pen.” Sade used his finger, demonstrating from the top of her shoulders, slowly down. He finally paused at several things. The way she clenched her butt tight when he drew near it, the light squealing noise she made, and the scars on her ass, lower back, and upper legs.

  “Is something wrong?” she said in a strained voice.

  It was more than he could stand not to. Very softly, he traced a finger over one of the thick scars.

  “Excuse you,” she jerked her head to him. “What the hell?”

  “Sorry,” he said, locking his gaze on hers. “I had wagered you had no flaws on your body.”

  “Wagered with who?”

  He answered honestly. “Myself.”

  “Yeah well. You lost. I got my ass beat a lot when I was young.”

  “I see that.” How very interesting.

  “No need to stare,” she muttered, putting her head back down and facing away.

  More confliction came with her tone. He wished she would behave one way or another so he could choose a need. But it was like she kept dangling bait before both his desires. He wasn’t sure why he would want to feel pain around her when her weak nature sucked his cock better than any woman ever could. “Going to be hard not to look.”

  “Look, but don’t stare.”

  But that’s exactly what he did. He stared. At those scars. A dense ache urged him to touch them. Feel the thickness. Gauge the pain. Once again, the need to be punished hit him.

  “You can draw now.”

  He realized she was letting him know it was taking too long. He picked up his pen and glanced at the wing drawing for several seconds and began his outlining. He was supposed to wear gloves but didn’t and hoped she didn’t call him on it. Placing one hand and forearm on her back, he carefully, and slowly, drew.

  “So,” she said, attempting small talk. “Is Sade your real name?”

  “No,” he answered, his cock hard, as his pen approached her ass. “Is Mercy your real name?” His free hand kept pace with his drawing one, a steady brace for leverage.

  “Yep.”

  The fear in her voice gripped his fucking hard-on, much like an eager pussy would. Delicious. He pressed his hard on into the bed and used her ass cheek to brace his free hand on now.

  “How long have you
been doing this?”

  He stifled a grunt at hearing what that touch did. She acted like a fucking virgin. “Since I was fourteen,” he muttered. “Do the scars bother you?”

  “Nope,” she said.

  He kept his face close to his work, which meant his breath hit her ass when he talked. “Does it bother you that I’m touching them?”

  “Honestly?”

  He paused, waiting to see if she’d lie.

  “It bothers me a lot. But I know how to deal. Do what you need to.”

  Her honesty did strange things to him, none that he liked and yet loved. Or was it her courage? He went back to drawing. “You know how to deal, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “So forthcoming,” he murmured.

  “I’ve had training.

  “What kind?” He was on her upper thigh and he slid his hand between them. “Need you open just a little.”

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  When he realized he wasn’t getting off to her reaction, he paused in frustration. “Maybe this was a bad idea. We can stop—”

  “No! I’m fine.” She opened her legs a tiny bit and Sade gazed at the dark hair on her pussy for several moments. “Now what!” she cried.

  “Nothing, sorry. I was looking at the image.” But what he was also doing was breathing her in. The scent of a woman’s pussy was a turn off—except during those sexorcisms—and he was ready to have control of his cock back. He’d finally chosen his desire. Hurting her. But fuck if she didn’t smell different enough to make him fumble that ball.

  He turned from the bed, needing to breathe fresh air. He selected another color pen to draw with, getting more pissed by the second with how she was screwing with is controls.

  The door opened suddenly and she gasped with a little squeal.

  “What the fuck dude?”

  “Sorry man,” Bo said, sounding surprised before quickly shutting the door.

  Of course he was surprised, Sade never reacted to somebody entering his workspace. But this was a legitimate client, he reminded himself.

  “Excuse me,” Sade said, throwing the sheet over her. “I’ll be right back.”