Mercy

by Annabel Joseph

  You’ll see.

  “I wish we were down in my basement,” he said in a voice gruff with lust.

  “I do too, Matthew.”

  He looked down at my knee. “Can’t I fuck you here?”

  I don’t know, I wanted to answer. Can you? How many of your rules would that break? It seemed to me suddenly we were recklessly breaking them all, as he pulled me close to him and held me in his arms. The carton of ice cream was put aside, forgotten.

  “Can’t I fuck you here, if I don’t jostle your knee?” His fingertips trailed slowly down my arm. I felt so warm and protected in his embrace. I basked in the smell of his aftershave, the feel of his fingers moving over my skin.

  “Mm. I’m sure you could find a way.”

  “If I was so very gentle...?” he breathed against my ear.

  “Can you be gentle?” I felt his soft laugh against my skin.

  “I wonder how a sound spanking would affect your knee. Take your top off. I want to suck on your tits.”

  I took it off with his help and he fondled me, kissing and licking my nipples.

  “Does that feel good?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Am I hurting your knee?”

  “No! No...” No, don’t stop.

  He pushed off my pajama bottoms and put his hand on the inside of my thigh, parting my legs, his fingers going right to my clit, then deeper into my pussy. I was already wet and hot for him.

  “Am I hurting your knee?” he whispered again.

  I made a helpless noise of denial. His fingers left me, and I watched in fascination as lowered his mouth to my pussy. Oh, my God. I moaned under the manipulations of his talented tongue. He brushed his lips against my clit with a sensuous skill that had me trembling. I had never enjoyed receiving oral before. When Joe had gone down on me, it felt so submissive on his part that it wasn’t sexy at all. The way Matthew did it, there was no question he was in charge.

  He held my thighs hard and had his way with me. Just as I reached the point of climax, begging for release, he stopped. He only smiled at my frustrated wail, looking down at me with those piercing, intent eyes. When I returned from the brink, he started all over, and did it again. And again.

  “Tell me if it hurts...” he whispered. Sadist.

  I urged him on with a moan. Finally, when I thought I would die from the hot ache of my unsatisfied passions, he gave me permission to come. He held my hips and pressed his tongue against me, licking all the way up my slit, before sucking my clit between his teeth and nipping it. It felt like he was eating me alive. I was the prey, caught and consumed by the predator. I almost screamed with the force of the orgasm that overtook me.

  Afterward he licked and caressed my now sensitive pussy until I begged him to stop. When he finished tormenting me, he licked all the way up my belly and breasts and then licked right up my cheeks to my eyes. He rubbed his rough cheek against me and whispered against my temple.

  “Do you have condoms here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “In the bathroom, in the drawer.”

  Again, after he’d been to the bathroom drawer, and rolled a condom onto his cock, and pushed inside me, again he whispered, “Tell me if it hurts.” Tell me if it hurts. It didn’t occur to me later how ironic it was for Matthew to so persistently protect me from hurt. He cradled me, half fucking me, half coddling me, hard and soft, until I shuddered under him and came on waves of endless, unfocused pleasure. I was fuzzy and helpless, in deep, deep submission to him. Afterward, I couldn’t look in his eyes. I felt so much love for him, with his ice cream and his tender caring whispering fuck. Instead, I hid my face in his neck, and he let me. He didn’t turn away or push me from him, just held me close and still.

  “You know,” I finally said against his skin, trying not to tremble. “You can be really gentle.

  I never suspected.”

  “Strange, huh?” He took his condom off and tossed it away, then lay back beside me. I looked at him and wondered how he’d come to be the man that he was, wondered that he had this tender, nurturing side he’d never shown me before. I was unbalanced by it, and yet fascinated.

  The rules that ordered our world were suddenly undefined there in my bed, and I took advantage, trying to draw him out at the same time I was afraid of what I’d learn.

  “Did you used to be gentle, always? Before you got into rough sex?”

  “Rough sex? Is that what we have?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Because I restrain you? Because I beat your ass?”

  “Because you beat my ass hard and often.”

  He laughed. “Well, then, I’ve always liked rough sex. But sometimes I like gentle sex. It’s like...my kink.” I laughed, and he smiled back, and so I kept on.

  “When did you first spank a woman?”

  “Oh God. Long ago, when I was a teenager.”

  “I mean, serious spanking. Scenes like you do with me.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I was older. Late twenties probably, before I screwed up the courage to try it. I was probably your age.”

  “Did you try it on a vanilla girl? Or you found a submissive?”

  “All these questions, Lucy. I hardly remember. I think I started very clumsily with a vanilla girlfriend. I’ve mostly just been with adventurous vanilla women. You’re the first one I’ve ever met who’s really into it like me. And you, you were vanilla before you met me.”

  “Yes.”

  “A closet submissive.”

  “I guess.”

  “Fortunate for me. I got to train you up from scratch, just as I like you.”

  “You’re not bored of me yet?”

  “Not even close. Do I appear bored?” His cock was already starting to harden again. He stroked it, looking at me. “Do you ever wish I was your vanilla boyfriend?”

  “Yes, sometimes.” I wish I could have lied to him, but he would have known and that would have been worse. “But it goes away. I’m not vanilla anymore.”

  “So, what am I to you then?” he asked, looking me right in the eyes. I wanted to counter, what am I to you? But even then, it wasn’t something I would dare.

  So I just shrugged, defeated. “I’ve given up puzzling out what I am to you. What you are to me.”

  “Have you? Quitter.”

  He seemed to shake himself back to reality then. He stood up from the bed and told me he had to leave.

  * * *

  One night soon after that, when it was almost Thanksgiving, he came to pick me up at the stage door himself. I asked where Davis was, and he told he was waiting down in the basement to watch me get my ass beaten and fucked.

  And sadly, that made me wet. He was so evil, so perverted. And yes, Davis was there in the basement waiting, and when I stripped for Matthew, Davis watched me too. A few moments later I was sucking Matthew off. I was getting better at it, gagging less. I still gagged though, which was a convenient thing because it gave Matthew an automatic reason to punish me. When Matthew came in my throat, I tasted him and swallowed him, never forgetting for a moment that Davis was there watching this whole scene.

  “Over the ottoman,” he said the moment I finished. “I’m so fucking tired of you choking on my cock.”

  I went to the ottoman he pointed at. Davis watched all this from his place by the door. He didn’t sit down. He just stood still and watched me. He was only there, of course, to humiliate me with his gaze. And yes, the old me would have been humiliated beyond measure. I would have felt sickened to be debased in front of this man. But by now I was so used to humiliation, had been so trained to enjoy it, that Davis’s presence only worked me up more.

  “Give me your hands.” Matthew buckled them hard, angry because he could tell I was turned on. He knew every subtle signal of my body. Yes, he was pissed that Davis’s presence wasn’t hurting me as he’d hoped, but I was sure he’d find another way to make me cry. He walked to the armoire, got a huge butt plug. “Put your ass up in the air.
” I squeezed my legs together and arched my bottom to him. He lubed up the toy and began to press it into my asshole.

  “Open,” he said, slapping my cheeks. “Don’t tense up and make me shove it in.” He finally drove the toy home deep inside me, so I was stretched open and totally in thrall to him.

  He got the crop next and whipped me hard, to punish me, yes, but for the sheer fun of it, too.

  No lectures, no frowning, no deriding my oral sex capabilities. He whipped me just to see me jump. Blow after sharp blow fell. I cried eventually, even though it wasn’t a long beating. I almost always cried, even with my tolerance for pain. But as usual, I was so turned on by the end of it that my pussy was dripping with lust.

  He sheathed himself, then knelt and thrust into me from behind, coming over my back, his weight pushing me down. His cock inside me rubbed up and back against the anal plug. I moaned like a slut at how decadent it felt. Within minutes I was trembling, tensing.

  “Do you want to come?”

  “Yes, Matthew!”

  “Beg me.”

  “Please, please, let me come, Matthew!”

  “Try again. That’s pitiful.”

  “Please, please let me come with your cock inside me, and the toy in my ass! Please, Matthew! It feels so good. It makes me feel like a whore—”

  “Because you are a whore.” He whacked my ass with his hand.

  “I know, Matthew. I am!” Davis witnessed all of this but I didn’t care.

  “You wait until I say, you slutty little tramp.” He fucked me hard then, hard and brutal.

  “You like it in both holes?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Yes, Matthew!”

  He undid the cuffs and pulled me to the floor. He took the toy from my ass and worked his dick in. I moaned from the rough pain and pleasure.

  “Spread your legs wider! Wide apart!”

  I complied, and he drove deeper, so deep I thought he might split me in two. The orgasm came over me like wildfire, hot and searing. He held me down as I shook myself free of every last vestige of my pride and identity. I was his fuck toy, pure and simple. He came less than a minute later, jerking against my ass. It was then I realized I hadn’t asked permission for my orgasm.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I said when I could breathe again. “I’m so sorry I came.” But I wasn’t really sorry, even when he brought out the cane. He handed it to Davis.

  “Punish her,” he told him. “Not too hard, though. She’s a hell of a fuck, and you can have what’s left of her when you’re through.”

  Ever the obedient lackey, Davis started to cane me. It was the first time Matthew had someone else join us, and while I’d liked having Davis watch, I liked less having him join in. I realized quickly how careful Matthew was, that I’d never appreciated Matthew’s finesse at giving me pain. Davis beat me like a dog. I screamed each time his arm fell, and it only took five excruciating blows for him to draw blood. Matthew stopped him then, taking the cane and handing him a condom.

  “We can share her now,” he said. “You can use her cunt and I’ll use her mouth. You saw how she likes having all her holes filled.”

  I lay still, reeling as they discussed how to take me. I watched from some kind of dissociative state as Davis picked up my legs and thrust deep into my still slippery pussy.

  Matthew knelt with one thigh on either side of my head and jammed his cock deep down my throat. They both fucked me, and I lay there like a good girl, like the good girl he’d trained me to be.

  And as I lay there still and quiet, I thought, this, this is what he meant about using me. This is what it really feels like to be used.

  Chapter Eight: Shame

  He pulled me upstairs afterward, showered me off under water that was barely warm. He waited long enough for me to brush my teeth, brush the taste of his cum away, and then he pushed me towards the bed.

  He was furious. I didn’t know why. I’d done what he asked, even let Davis fuck me and draw my blood. I didn’t understand the scene that had just happened, and I felt I had no right to make him explain. And honestly, I didn’t want to know why he had wanted it. So I just lay silently beside him, traumatized and numb.

  Had he expected me to rebel against him, refuse to let Davis use me? There were so many rules I didn’t know or understand. I thought again of how it had felt, pinned by both men, used as an abject receptacle. Shared. Abused. My mind whispered the word again and again. Abuse. Had he crossed a line? Should I have stopped him? Could I have stopped him? I could have. But what upset me the most was that he’d wanted to share me and treat me so cruelly in the first place.

  My mind raced, replaying the scene again and again in my mind, and then a small rebellion, a tiny spark of rebellion began to grow. I could hear him breathing steadily beside me, feel the bed shift under his weight. I thought of the quiet, calm way he’d invited Davis to have me, the cold way he’d knelt over me and shoved his cock down my throat, and it suddenly seemed to me that this was someone I should hate. I started to tremble from the horrible need to act, and then I did act. I decided to leave.

  Well, I decided, but I didn’t just get up and do it, at least not right away. No, I started to inch, millimeter by millimeter, to the edge of the bed. When I was far enough away from him where I thought he wouldn’t grab me, I lay the sheets back carefully and rolled onto my feet. I got probably four feet away from him before he said to me, “No.” He said “no,” but it sounded more like don’t you dare. The ice in his voice was enough to freeze me. He put on his bedside light and sat up, frowning at me, cool determination in his icy blue eyes.

  “You come now, Lucy, and you get right back into bed.”

  I was shaking so hard I thought my legs would give out, and I suddenly felt very naked, more naked than I’d been in my life. I wrapped my arms around my front, tried to cover myself the exact way he’d forbidden me to the very first day, and started to cry.

  “Stop it,” he snapped, but I shook my head.

  “I can’t,” I bawled. “I can’t.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t move or speak, because I think he realized that if he pushed me any more right then, I would have snapped. And strangely enough, through all this, I went nowhere. I just stood still there like a statue in front of him and continued to cry. I didn’t make any more effort to leave, nor did I return to his bed. I just stood. It seemed like I stood there for an hour in time, but it was probably only five minutes, five silent minutes of trembling, passive revolt.

  “You’re shivering. Just fucking come back to bed.”

  “I hate you.” It felt good to say it even if it was a lie.

  He looked away from me and bit his lip. Trying to keep his temper? Or had I actually hurt his feelings, my indefatigable tyrant?

  “There are a lot worse things I could do to you, Lucy! A lot worse things!”

  “Why do you do it at all? Why do you do these things to me? Why did you share me with Davis, humiliate me—”

  “Humiliate you? I promise you, I’ve not even begun to humiliate you. I’m ridiculously soft on you—”

  “Why? Just tell me why!” I interrupted him. At any other time, he would have beat me silly for that. But now, our rigid rules seemed suspended, put aside for something more important and raw.

  “That’s none of your fucking business! I don’t have to explain myself to you!”

  “It’s because you hate me!” I screamed at him.

  “I don’t hate you! That’s fucking ridiculous!”

  “You hate women!” I insisted, and then he threw off the covers, walked over to me, and grabbed my face.

  “Don’t you ever, ever presume to tell me what I hate,” he said through tightly clenched teeth. “Now you listen to me, you stupid little fuck. You can either get back into bed with me and shut your fucking mouth, or you can walk out that fucking door and go home.” He looked hard into my eyes, squeezing my chin between his fingers. “But you think first. You think really hard, Lucy Merritt.
Because I promise you, if you walk now, you’re never coming back.” He let go of my chin, and not gently either. My head snapped back and I bit my lip. He walked back and got into the bed, pulling the sheets down roughly, while I stood, mute and stupid, rubbing my lip.

  “Get over here!” he barked. “Do not make me drag you.”

  I still just stood there looking at him. What would he do if I came back to the bed? It seemed all of a sudden that I was standing on a precipice, one of those cartoon types, where there was nowhere to go but down. Just one tall rock in the middle of the desert, with only enough room for my two feet to stand. All around, a sheer drop off, like a cliff.

  Well, hook an anvil to me. I was going down.

  I walked over to the bed, never taking my eyes off him. As soon as I was under the covers, he grabbed me and pulled me under him. His cock reared between my thighs.

  “Don’t you even move, you stupid little fuck.”

  He rolled on a condom and kicked my legs apart with his knee.

  “Look at me!” My eyes flew to his, because there was a tone to his voice I’d never heard. He grabbed my hands and pulled them taut over my head, and he just fucked me, his face inches from mine. As he fucked me, he started to talk to me, low and threatening, in a strange icy cadence to the punishing force of his thrusts.

  “Don’t you ever yell at me like that again. Don’t you ever ask me questions. Don’t you ever tell me how I feel about you.” Then his eyes got even harder, narrowed dangerously. “Don’t you ever try to steal away from me in the night, just don’t. You’re mine, Lucy, don’t you realize that?

  You’re mine and you always will be.” Then he repeated it to me again and again, in time to his fucking, as if he was trying to burn it on my brain. You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine. Then he pinched my nipples hard, so hard that it took my breath away, and he licked at the pulse in my neck and said, “Come for me.” All he ever had to do was say it. Barely a moment later, I came apart in his arms. I felt punished and helpless, the orgasm racking my body even as hot tears wet my cheeks. He clasped me close when he came, while I was still shuddering. I thought I felt him shudder a little too.