Small Mercies

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

Part V: Her

The chill of the air conditioning assails my flesh as I feel my clothing part and my skin attempt to adapt to its altered state. My blouse...my favorite...a Victorian dream, lays in tatters about my feet. All that is left are my stockings, held in place (for the moment?) by the thinnest of garters along my thigh, and the soft, black leather of my high-buttoned boots.

I flush, my skin turning a rosy pink...my eyes, hidden now from view... straining against the blind for a sign, any sign of your further intentions.

“Mercy.”

The word rolls around in my mind as I hear the metallic "click" of a snap against my throat. A leash? Am I to be treated like an animal...a pet whose only purpose is your amusement? Wantonly, I feel my nipples peak, hardening almost painfully as the leather strap brushes against them.

A gentle tug...then more insistent, and I am lead away. My mind traces the pathway across the room...to your den? Am I to be taken to (in?) this "no-woman's" land, this last bastion of your male dominated world? I've never been allowed in here before...never. The door, ever locked, has thwarted even my own finely honed curiosity. And now I've arrived, led naked and shivering by the unwavering firmness of your hand...into what?

I feel you behind me, your hands descending the line of my body...across my turgid breasts (a painful tweak), downward past my abdomen to crudely grasp my quivering mound.

You begin to stroke, to insinuate your finger once more...without preamble...taking that which you have claimed as yours...your conquest...your property.

I feel a whimper rise to my lips, but I hold it back. What if you don't stop? What if you do? Which bears the greater threat?

And then I hear your voice in my ear...whispering...telling me of the changes you've contracted with "special" craftsmen...artisans known only to powerful men in certain, private circles. I am to be allowed a glimpse, but only that...a brief titillation...an image to carry me through... what?

My blindfold falls away and the room begins to form before my eyes. I am awestruck...breathless that so much could have been hidden behind so innocuous a facade.

I feel a shiver...fear? Anticipation? Urgency? My eyes scan the walls, decorated with implements of erotic manipulation... finding some things totally familiar... but others?

This room comes well equipped. Before my widening eyes I see harness leather, whips of various sizes and shapes, metallic clamps, the bulbous form of a gag...with a strange, belted dais, in the shape of an "X"...the centerpiece of this peculiar and threatening chamber of submission.

Ring-bolts have been set into heavy beams, both on the walls and from heavy timbers traversing the ceiling.

Long wooden rods...yoke-like...iron-ringed at either end...their purpose beyond my trembling comprehension sit waiting in a not forgotten corner.

A leather chair...comfortable and overstuffed...not meant for me I am sure, fills a place against the far wall, an ottoman placed at its feet. This room comes well equipped. A small voice within me cries out...

“Mercy…oh please, mercy!”

But all I hear is the minute hiss of the air conditioning, and the swish of silk as my blindfold is replaced.

And then I am being lead once again...forward (toward the "X"?) and I feel your hands, strong and insistent, pressing me down against the cool leather surface...parting my thighs...rebinding me hand and foot... exposed...helpless.

I feel the fear in my mouth...a thin metallic taste between my lips...I am unable to cry out, struck dumb by my own terror.

“Mercy.”

My back arches, a deceptive illusion of freedom, only to be taken away...bound by a silken restraint...and then I hear it...the delicate clink of ice in my fine crystal ice bucket. My throat parched, my lips open gratefully, but to no avail.

And then I feel the first tortuous drop splash boldly against my nipple. I tear at my bonds as the freezing teardrop descends my breast...calling my flesh to full attention.

Then another...I cry out. "Please...no more...please!"

"Please what, Sarah Rose? Have you forgotten so soon?"

Your voice rasps, as yet another spate of frozen droplets assault my flesh, this time lower, between my outstretched thighs.

"Oh my God...MASTER!!!...please...no more...no more!"

Your finger, cold and wet from your ministrations traces my parched and quivering lower lip. I lunge to suckle, but it serves me not at all.

The clink of yet another cube against the crystal assails my ears. I feel your fingers parting the auburn curls between my legs...opening me...exposing me. An object... hard...cylindrical...freezing (party ice?) penetrates deep into my body. I cry out, struggling for freedom. The chill, so cold it burns my flesh endures...but can I?

My mind, but my mind only cries aloud.

“Mercy!”

But my lips remain silent as I feel the liquid, the by-product of my torment, flow in embarrassing runnels from my body as its source sears me to the core. It pools beneath my buttocks, running unchecked against the small of my back. Shame overcomes me.

Is he watching? Can he tell that this effluent is a result of his acts and not my own? What is he thinking?

Does he care?

Does my torment touch him at all?

Does he too have a "safe word"?

Part VI: Him

I watch you there, straining against your bonds, doing battle with whatever ideas you had about what is and is not forbidden between us. I see your lips working, mouthing the word that you long to say, but dare not for fear of what you will lose in this night. I know in my heart that whatever the outcome of our foray into places once thought forbidden, that I will love you more after this night if such a thing is possible.

For as I see you there, helpless, open, exposed, I see you for what you are tonight. A sacrifice of yourself, a giving of all that you once knew about your own heart and mind. To yourself, to us. But, and at this my heart pauses in its rhythm with the thrill of such knowledge: you have given it all to me. You are mine to enjoy, mine to take my pleasure from.

You are mine.

Then, I hear it again in the spaces that echo with desires that soon will be unchecked.

You are Mine. The capital is an audible one, an internal understanding of the power your apparent weakness gives me. For bound you may be, open to whatever I can conceive, but you still control me as you have from the first. You overwhelm my senses. Your spirit dares me to go beyond what I have known of myself, of my mind, of my heart.

And, lest I forget, of my body.

You are lying there, but I see you suspended, as perhaps tonight you will be, hung from some ethereal heavens, bridging the mundane of our daily lives and the absolute ecstasy of possible pleasures. Through you and this gift of yourself to me will come so many things, so many understandings of yourself, of us.

And of me.

For you know me, my submissive angel. You know what lurks half hidden in the darker corners of my heart. And while you would never ask for what I am about to give you, yet you have asked already. You have given yourself to me, and only a cry of mercy will end it. And where it ends, so we begin, from a new starting place in a karma laden moment.

A moment that began with first steps your naked body took across your room tonight.

I speak.

“Angel, for that is my name for you tonight, your Master is about to begin.”

Your mind whirls, wondering what I can mean. Haven’t we already begun?

“Pleasure will be yours in ways you can not yet even begin to imagine. Yes, in a way we have begun, but the teasing, the torturous drawing out of pleasure?”

I pause, and you lie motionless, barely daring to breathe at what may come next.

“That time is at an end for now.”

This sends a new chill along your skin, a nearly visible ripple of the confused maelstrom of emotions that even now threatens to engulf you.

“Now begins a time of taking. A time when your body will be my plaything. You will be Mine.”

You hear the capital that time, and as with all other words tonight, it frightens you. For you have submitted completely.

“Submission, angel, has become something of a study of mine.”

This, too, brings a shuddering chill, for you know my way of studying: absorbing all I can, to know as much as I can about whatever has caught my mind’s fancy. It is a shared study, this, and you know what you have read. Hopefully, fearfully, urgently, you wonder if perhaps we share any of this knowledge.

“I know it has become yours as well. A submissive will endure until she can no longer submit. This you know. And a submissive will take whatever is dealt her, knowing that the Master will not harm her unduly, for her safe word will always be her way out. There may come a time, perhaps tonight, when I will ask you what you have done to you. But for now, your body, and your silence, will be my request.”

Your mind begins to whirl, knowing that there are things on the walls that you fear, yet you hope, too, in the strangest fashion, that you can endure as much and as many of those things as possible. Then it begins to dawn, that I would never hurt you unless you asked. Your mouth opens, you almost ask if those things and perhaps others are what I am referring to. But you wait.

“I can almost see the words forming on your lips. Yes, those are the things to which I refer. But not yet. Perhaps not tonight. A great many other things await you until then.”

I step to your bonds, and undo them quickly. The only contact you can perceive is that of the leather leash brushing your breasts. You feel it tighten, then you are pulled to your feet. Still blind, your hands go out to steady yourself.

The sensation on the back of your neck increases, as you realize that you are being pulled forward.

“Kneel.”

My voice tears through the silence.

You kneel, obediently, blindly.

Then you hear the unmistakable sound an opening, a soft whir of metallic teeth, then my hand grasps the back of your head.

“Show me your tongue.”

Your tongue extends, and you taste what was so recently engulfed by your mouth.

“No lips, just your tongue.”

You internally whimper at this, wanting to take me in completely. Outside this room you know that you would never willingly accept the offering in your mouth, but in here you wonder how this other self that you have become would react.

Your tongue begins to work its way around my tumescence, and you lean forward to taste more, but my hand in your hair ceases all forward progress.

“Remember well precisely what you are doing.”

You wonder at this, but your mind is soon occupied again with the taste of me. Suddenly my hand in your hair tightens, pulling you to your feet. You nearly whimper again, sorry for the sudden loss, but then the leash tightens, leading you to another corner of the room.

You are bent forward, and my hands quickly secure your wrists, then your ankles. Then you realize where I have bound you. It is a leather covered sawhorse that you did notice in the corner. Your rounded bottom and legs, still clad in the stockings protrude obscenely. Your head, when you lower it, can feel the blood rushing to it. You raise your head, wondering what awaits you.

Then, you are assaulted from behind. You yelp at first, but soon moan luxuriously as what was just surrounded by your tongue now impales your flooded need. My hands reach for the curves of your bottom, steadying myself, and you can feel my clothing rasping against the tender flesh as I pound in and out.

Brutally.

Wantonly.

Selfishly.

You are aghast at your body’s reactions. There is no painful dryness. You were ready to receive what is now being given you. Wanting. Needing. How can this be? Then the source of your pleasure and confusion retreats as quickly as its invasion.

You moan now with unrequited desire, then your head is raised by your hair again. “Show me your tongue.”

Obediently, the tongue is displayed, and you taste…your mind registers quickly that you are tasting yourself mingled with my flesh. You pause, but the grip in your hair tightens, and you bend to your task. Now almost greedily you begin to lick away the remnants of this recent passion, knowing that you have done so before, sampled your own juices out of curiosity and occasional necessity. But this? This decadence? This blurring of what is proper?

You respond to it, laving me with your efforts. Then it is pulled away once more, your bonds are released, and you are led to another part of the room.

Here your legs are spread again, and you become aware of the air conditioning as it strikes the moisture from your intimate core. Your arms are raised, spread wide, and you feel yourself being shackled. Then, a new humiliation (pleasure? the 2 have nearly become one in your mind), as a gag is placed between your lips.

Now I break my silence.

“Cry out as you will. For whatever reason. Since your mouth will be silenced, nod your head 3 times for your safe word. Again, if you feel the need to cry out for mercy, nod your head 3 times. Do you understand?”

You nod your head once, and await the touch of your Master.

To Be Continued...