Small Mercies

This is a five-part "tandem" story, written by two writers (Katherine English and Steven Whitman).

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Part III: Her

I sit beside you, in your fine new car, clothed in your fine new suit...so cool...so controlled, but I can remember, not so many hours before when your control was not so complete. I smile and touch my finger to my lips. Is that little dab of pink still there, I wonder...on the tip of your finger?

Your smirk tells me that you think you have the upper hand here. Well, maybe you have...but all that can change.

You gently touch my thigh, exposed from my efforts to slide into the front seat after releasing so many buttons. You smile as you watch me squirm...telling me once again that I must wait...wait...wait. But I have other plans...ones that may change your mind...

Deftly, I lift my purse from the floor where it rests, discarded in my discomfiture, and take a tissue from the tiny, slitted palm-sized package. Then, raising it to my lips, I begin to dab...ever so gently, until you shift your gaze... wondering what I have in mind.

I smile...an enigmatic smile...the game is afoot.

I dab again...and again until I'm sure that all of my lipstick has been removed, and my lips are as naked as you'd like me to be. Then...a twinkle in my eye...my hand strays to the smooth finish of your slacks, tracing the sharp crease upward to the union of leg and hip. I lean back against the seat...a sigh...and gently slip my fingers inward toward the hard pulse that I know I'll find within. So...you want me to wait, I think...well...let's see how adept you are at the "waiting game".

"Sarah?" you question, your composure beginning to unravel. "I'm trying to drive..."

My hand strays to your zipper...a soft zzzz...and freedom.

"I know," I reply.

"...So am I."

You shift your focus...distracted...unsure. I have you now...and I know it. Confidently...my purpose foremost in my mind, I slip my hand inside of your silk boxers and secure my prize.

The car swerves.

"Keep your eyes on the road, my Love," I whisper.

"Leave this in better hands."

I watch as you grip the wheel, your fingers drumming nervously on the round firmness of it. Then, scooting my velvet derrière all the way toward the passenger door, I lean toward you and release your manhood from its silken prison.

You gasp.

"Sarah?" you question.

"Now...here?"

I smile once again.

"Yes," I reply, "...to both questions."

A red light blinks at the intersection in front of you...the car halts...and I gently take you between my lips. You stroke the wheel...feeling its convolutions flow beneath your fingers...but it's not enough. You close your eyes and lean heavily back against the fine Corinthian leather of this magnificent, luxurious automobile.

I begin to lick...lightly at first, then with added determination. You groan. A car honks behind us...a driver shouts. What is that he's calling you? You don't care...not this time. Let him get his own...

The car moved forward...jerkily at first... and I take you deeply into my throat...relishing your taste... devouring you as I nestle between your quivering thighs.

Your right hand reaches down to stroke my hair, still bound softly atop my head. "Sarah...we can't," you murmur, but your hand, sliding down to grasp the back of my neck says otherwise.

I feel your fingers diving into my coiffure...urging me against you...stiffening with restraint. A hairpin? You give it a tug. And another? And yet another? Soon you feel the weight of my hair, silken soft...wildly abandoned, fall against your leg, and my face vanishes from view.

Was that a stop sign? You missed it!

You swell with an urgency unimagined only a few scant minutes before. Your driving has become erratic. I can see the police report now. Do you still want me to wait? Do you?

My lips...lost in a mass of red strands, continue to move against you...sucking gently... teasing... testing your determination...your control. I swirl my tongue around your hardened shaft...your fingers close painfully around a fistful of my hair.

"OH!" I cry out.

You're not quite as under control as I'd imagined...but we still have a few blocks to go. There's still time...victory is still within my grasp...my lips.

I redouble my efforts, the soft pant of my breath warming the fabric of your suit, the leather upon which you sit...and then I taste the first tiny drops of your defeat escape tentatively against my tongue.

The car halts, and I feel you grasp my hair...tugging me from the scene of my "crime".

"We're here," you murmur huskily. “Now, it’s my turn.”

Your words reverberate against my flesh.

"My turn," you repeat, sliding across the seat and pressing me intimately against the passenger door.

I feel your finger, blunt and demanding, insinuating itself beneath my collar...my velvet bond...set in place the day you gave it to me... invisibly present ever since. You pull me toward you, immobile, your tongue trailing across my cheek.

Consuming.

"Sarah Rose," you whisper against my throat, "You're going to need a 'safe word' tonight."

My eyes shift and widen. A "safe word"? I'm confused. My uncertainty shows, and you smile. My reaction stimulates you, and I feel your finger curl against my throat, reveling in the rapid beating of my pulse.

"A 'safe word", Sarah Rose," you repeat, using my full name, the one most likely to evoke my childlike obedience...the one most likely to call forth my unquestioning submission to your every whim.

"You'll need one tonight. It's the only thing that will halt the 'game'...not tears...not pleas...not the passionate screams that you utter so freely when we're together."

You lean closer, and mutter a word...a single word into my ear, your voice heavy with purpose.

"Say it, Sarah Rose," you demand, your voice carrying a message I dare not resist. "I want to hear you say it."

I swallow...hard...feeling your finger releasing my choker to trail possessively down the front of my blouse...ever downward to the gaping slit in my skirt.

Your hand slides between my thighs, and I hear the impatience in your voice as you demand once again:

"Say it...now."

My lips begin to form the syllables, to do as I've been bidden, but wordless acquiescence is the only response I'm capable of giving. My chest tightens, my head begins to pound. Have I forgotten to breathe? I feel your thumb pressing heavily against the lacy barrier of my quivering mound...my eyes close, and I try once again.

"Mercy," I whisper...as my breath escapes audibly into the leather-bound space around me...my voice strained and alien.

"Mercy."

Your hand vanishes. A door opens...a slight breeze...and you're gone.

I feel my door, my sole support, open behind me...your arms the only thing between my body and the pavement below. Gently...your eyes heavy-lidded, you lead me to the threshold.

Mercy.

...my mind prods the word,

Mercy.

...caresses it,

Mercy.

...clings to it.

Mercy.......

Part IV: Him

“My turn." I hear my own words echoing in my mind. On the threshold, I quickly pull you to me, my thigh moving rapidly between your legs as my arms crush you to me. You gasp, but are quickly silenced by my lips as they devour yours, our tongues battling there as you instinctively move against me.

I walk you inside, still kissing, my arms lifting your feet from the ground. Despite your skirt, your legs move up to wrap around my waist. As we step inside the door, I push you against the wall, and you can feel my hardness against you, as through our clothing my body finds yours and we begin to grind against each other.

Mindful of the expensive nature of both our clothing, but still wishing to not delay, I push you away from me. You stand, panting, your thighs lewdly splayed, as your hand reaches up and further unbuttons your skirt. I stop you, spinning you around and putting your face to the wall. Your hands caress the smooth plaster and I step behind you. I push your legs together as you squirm at my touch, then all is revealed to your questioning mind as my fingers find the hem of your panties and I tear them off of you.

You gasp as you feel the soft tug against your flesh, but flimsy as they are, there is not much resistance. Then I grab each one of your wrists, pulling them behind your back and securing them to each other with the remnants of the torn material. You cringe a little, almost afraid at this new development, but I whisper in your ear.

"Hush, my love. You are mine to enjoy, mine for my pleasure. But you are also mine to love, and I will never hurt you."

You relax, instinctively knowing such things, but still apprehensive about something new, even though new things for us always mean new pleasures.

I turn you to face me, but quickly your view is blocked by a silken blindfold produced from a hidden pocket in my coat, knowing that our arrival home would be followed quickly by such an encounter. You feel my hands begin to undo the belt at your waist, followed quickly by the skirt. Then, each button of your blouse is undone, and it too is pushed aside, bunching at your bound hands. You arch your back, knowing instinctively what your bustier has done to the curve of your breasts, and knowing that I cannot resist them completely. But I do, at least for now.

You hear me sliding something from another jacket pocket, and soon you sense the bindings of your bustier being loosened, one by one. Then the coolness of the air in the house hits your skin, as you realize that your bustier has been cut away from you, and your nipples harden at the thought of both your naked state and what I plan to do with it. I soon cut away the blouse too, promising to replace it soon, on one of our memorable shopping trips.

Then I step back, and watch you, breasts heaving, legs wide, your hands squirming to free themselves of the bond of their restraints. I see your head turning to where you think I am, and your tongue leaves your lips, tracing a path from side to side, so gently, as you wonder what will come next.

I too wonder, but I would rather ponder you for the moment...your stocking clad legs spread for me. I can see the moisture that has been building as a bit of it breaks free and begins it slow path down your inner thigh. I track its path, knowing that soon my tongue will be following that same path to its source. I tell you this, about the moisture you can feel and the tongue that you can imagine, and I notice your nipples hardening again ever so slightly at the thought. I watch you lick your lips as you hoarsely speak.

"What now?"

I chuckle.

"Great and wonderful things, my love."

Then I step to you, and our lips meet, our tongues battling as we kiss. My hands do not caress you, and you whimper, straining for touch. But touch will come. Yes, it will come.

You stand before me, as anticipation tinged with a slight unknowing fear washes electric across your skin. Your mind is at battle again with your desires, telling you that yes, tonight will be one for the ages as they say, but wondering if now would be the time to cry, "Mercy," bringing us back to events better understood, yet less inviting, less tempting in the ways of forbidden pleasures. For it is pleasure that we share, knowing that within us lies one of the other, a body and mind only complete when joined in intimate carnal bliss. You feel my fingers along your choker, the velvet transmitting my touch in muted tones, but still loudly proclaiming to your body what my intentions are for you, for tonight and many nights to come.

In its center, at the hollow of your neck, is centered a ring, deceptively delicate in its construction, yet strong enough to withstand a great deal of stress. You smile at the memory of my explaining the nature of the velvet choker, and its attached ring. You asked me then what its uses were, but I only smiled, and walked away. You trembled then, for you could guess what lay ahead. Yes, guess, but perhaps even your adventurous mind could not begin to open itself to what I have planned for you. And you tremble now as you did then, for again you are afraid of yourself, knowing that there is little you will not endure for the sake of pleasure. For pleasure, like a great many things in your life, is part of the ritual, a sense of purpose with which you do nearly everything.

And this is the "why" for tonight, for tonight I wish to take you...no, take us, somewhere as yet only discussed in the purest hypothetical verbiage.

I speak...

"Tonight begins a journey, my love...a journey that has no foreseeable end, but has many branches along the way. Until now we have played at games, games that will lead to an ultimate game...tonight. Tonight you will be mine in ways you and I have only begun to imagine. Tonight I am not your lover, the man who shares your bed. Tonight, until you cry “Mercy," I am your Master. I am your whole world...I am the answer to your every need, your every desire...I am the only one who you will ever want inside you. And I will be inside you in every way. But I am not merely going to use you for my pleasure. I am going to use you for our pleasure, as it is a blissful ecstasy that awaits."

You turn your head to my voice, then hear a slight snap...it sounds like...no, but that can't be...it CAN'T be...would I do that to you? Yes, your mind answers, he would, your Master would. And then you feel a slight tug as the leash is tightened, and my voice tells you to follow me.

We step through the entryway, and then to the 2nd bedroom, my study. At least that seems to be where we are headed...blind except to what your mind's eye pictures, you can only guess at our destination.

I lead you, and then you hear the door shut...it's strangely quiet in here. You hear your blood pounding in your ears, and that is all...startled by the touch of my lips near your ear, you hear me say:

"You may have guessed, my sweet submissive angel, that we are in my study. But not the study you would assume. I contracted with some men who have a certain artistic bent to their remodeling work. In my daily absence, they have been here...first of all, soundproofing this room. Not just to keep others from listening to what is about to take place, but to keep the outside world at bay as much as possible."

I remove your blindfold, and you gasp at what lies before you. I study you, wondering what your reaction will be.

"My angel, you are not to speak unless spoken to...is that understood? And any response you give me will be followed by 'Master.' Is that clear as well?"

"Yes Master," you barely say, hardly able to contain the emotions churning in the silence.

"Good. Look around, drink it in. For soon your eyes will be covered again, and we will begin."

Your eyes are drawn first to the candles, and you smile, knowing what the flickering firelight on your skin does to me. Gone are the books that usually line these walls, and candles are everywhere. The room is a vast flickering sea of flame, a picture that your body paints well. You notice too that the walls are padded, thicker... the soundproofing of which I spoke. Along the walls are hanging various handcuffs, a gag or 2 (you shudder at their presence here), and several silken scarves. Also along the walls are what appear to be some feathers, but next to them are some other implements that give you pause, implements that look as though they might cause pain. I see your eyes drawn to those, and I speak again.

"My angel, those will only be used if you should ever request them. You know me now...my torture of you will only be sweet, and otherwise to touch you would only be at your word to me. Never will I force such a thing upon you."

You relax, uncertain if such things would ever bring you pleasure, but safe in the knowledge that it would be yours to control. Safe. But is it safety you seek? You feel an odd tinge of disappointment that perhaps there are boundaries to what I would have from you.

"But know one thing…"

At this your shoulders tighten…fear? Hope? Your emotions at war with your sensible self, as you hang on the words that come next.

"…In all other things, you are mine."

You relax only slightly, still feeling that odd disappointment at what may not take place. But such a feeling is quickly swept aside, as your eyes are drawn to the centerpiece of the room...there are some other fixtures here, but this one, for now, holds your gaze. It is a masseuse's couch after a fashion, black leather gleaming dully in the candlelight, and there is the place to lie face down comfortably, but then the top and bottom have extensions attached. There are arms and legs pointing off at 45 degree angles from the couch, and attached to them are what appear to be silk lined manacles and cuffs. You look at me, so many questions dancing in your eyes, but the blindfold returns, and I am lost to your vision.

You feel me behind you, undoing the bonds of your wrists, and then you are led to the table. I lie you back, and quickly, expertly it seems, fasten the restraints for your wrists, your ankles, and then, a touch unexpected, a silken strap goes across your body at your waist. You are unable to move, and again that touch of terror at your helpless state. Your breath quickens, and then my hand is on you, caressing your body, and you are calmed once again.

You lie there, helpless, as you strain to listen for any clue as to what comes next. Then you heard the dreaded clink of ice cubes in a bowl, and you stiffen, wondering how they will come into play. Then the first icy drop strikes your right nipple, then the left, then 2 more in the auburn patch of need that strains for greater contact.

Again the icy caress...first the right, the left, then the very center of your desires. The drops come irregularly, an exquisite adaptation of Chinese water torture, until suddenly, without warning, one of the offending cubes enters you, slid into you by my fingers. You gasp, your muscles clamping uncontrollably around the icy shock to your heated core, wanting to rid yourself of it, but not daring, as the alien sensation triggers a trembling in you.

As the ice melts, and your body's heat again conquers your hidden place, you feel unfulfilled, knowing that you want more, a great deal more. But knowing too that such a thing is indeed my place, my decision to make.

To Be Continued...