Small Mercies

Part I

Her

I’m late…so late…and yet as I hear your key in the lock, I’m still not
ready to go. My sense of time has escaped me tonight. It does that
sometimes…and now with your new boss and his many stuffed minions
awaiting our arrival I’ve done the inexcusable once again.

I hear you settle heavily on the edge of the bed as I finish pinning my
hair and applying my lipstick…pink and understated. I turn. You are
resplendent in your new suit. Italian. Tailored. Expensive. Ordered by you
just for this event.

I know my role in this delicate dance we are to share. I review as I cross
the room, hastily snatching at the clothing that rests impatiently beside
you…my naked skin prickling at the thought. I am to be your trophy…an
ornament clinging to your arm, a testament to your acceptability among the
powerful men who have tentatively opened their ranks to you. My wardrobe
has been chosen accordingly. Demure. Feminine. “Look, but don’t touch,” it
says. I want to be what you need.

I feel your eyes on me…worried…impatient, as I grasp my flimsy panties
from the waiting pile. Time is the enemy, I think as I feel the cool, black
lace slide seductively up my legs, over my thighs toward my hips. The
delicious feel of them entices me as they conceal my auburn thatch from
your gaze. Are you still watching? I wonder. Are you still impatient?

Silently, I turn to face you, attempting to read your statement as I slip
my arms through the silken straps of my matching bustier. My nipples
harden, their aureoles dark and dusky…a contrast to the pale contours of
my lips. Quickly I secure the tiny hooks which bind me, feeling the lift as
it molds my breasts, manipulates them…creates a display for your eyes
alone.

I glance nervously towards you…searching your eyes for a sign. Have I
pleased you? Have I erased the impatience from your gaze?

Quietly I place my left foot beside you on the bed and begin to unfurl the
black, silk stocking, so carefully rolled in my palm, upward…over my
calf…my knee…my thigh. I secure it with a satin garter, then turn to
repeat the process. I feel your hand grasp my ankle…stroking suggestively
along my calf. Are you still impatient, I wonder again…or has your focus
wavered…become misdirected?

I cross in front of you…long easy strides…and take the small, crystal
vial of “Tea Rose” from my vanity table. This is the part you like
best…the part you fantasize about. This is worth a pause, a few extra
heartbeats in the pulse of the moment. It’s not to be rushed.

I return to face you, insinuating myself between your splayed thighs,
grasping the tiny, tear-shaped flacon between my palms. A “pop”…a small
sucking sound. I hear you swallow… hard…your Adam’s apple working
urgently against the pristine knot of your new power tie.

“Hold this for me?” I whisper, thrusting the small, smooth bauble into your
palm. “Be careful…don’t spill.”

Silently, I withdraw the stopper, its hard crystalline nipple coated with
the muted essence of roses. I place a drop…a single drop on the tip of my
finger. Heavy-lidded, my eyes warming to the task…I arch my neck and dab
it gently in the hollow of my throat…just a touch… feather-light…soft
as silk. Your unencumbered palm brushes against my thigh. I sigh softly.
Did the sound touch you in that special place where only I can reach?

I dip the stopper once more. Your hand trembles. “Don’t spill,” I whisper
again, as I place a second drop on my manicured digit. Then slowly, your
eyes following my every move, I slip my finger between my breasts…so
firm…so prominent in their black lace bustier. I hear you groan.

“Don’t spill,” I repeat, my voice a caress.

I dip again.

This time I part my thighs, raising my foot upward between your stiffening
legs, and bringing it to rest on the outside of your hip.

A single drop. Pristine and perfect.

Slowly my finger lowers, between my parted limbs, and I trail a thin line
of the aromatic moisture along my inner thigh.

You dip your head, inhaling the heady aroma of sex and roses…your
impatience a thing of the past…replaced by a more acute sense of
urgency…but I haven’t finished…not yet.

I dip a final time…one last maddening immersion…and place the small,
hard cylinder between my palms. Slowly I begin to roll its moist surface
against my flesh…like a child awaiting a treat…coating my skin with its
dewy effluent.

Why her palms?

I hear you wonder, your thoughts almost tangible.

Why there?

You’ll be wondering that all night… I have no doubt of it. When the
staunch and staid patrons of this new world to which you aspire are
discussing their golf scores this evening… it’s my palms that will occupy
your thoughts…my palms and the promises they hold.

But…I want to be what you need me to be. I’ve delayed long enough. I need
to make an end. We need to be on our way.

Quickly I don my blouse, a Victorian confection in antique
lace…classic… enigmatic, with a “sweetheart” neckline displaying the
full half-moons of my breasts for your approval. Your eyes soften.
Uncertainty wafts across your features…vacillation. Perhaps…?

But no…I’m determined. This pseudo-social soiree is of great importance
to your career. I won’t compromise this evening. I can’t.

Without pause, I wrap my open skirt around my hips, covering the bare
expanse between my bustier and the low, lacy elastic of my panties. It too
is vintage, black velvet, buttoned down the front from the heavy leather
belt I cinch around my waist, to the full sweep of the hem hovering just
above my ankles. I secure the buttons as far as the knee, but leave the
remaining undone. A peek. A seduction. “Look, but don’t touch.”

I complete the ensemble with a final touch…a velvet choker. Is it a
symbol perhaps…a reminder of the hand that gave it to me…the man that
gave it to me?

I smooth my clothing with my fingers, watching lust and obligation warring
behind your eyelids. I have only my boots remaining now. High heeled. High
buttoned. Calf-length black leather.

I slip my foot hesitantly into the right, and retrieve the antique button
hook from the vanity. Grasping the bulbous, wooden handle in my palm, I
deftly insert the hook into the tiny aperture. With a flip of the wrist,
the gap begins to diminish. Button-hooked. I continue thusly, until the
dozen or so pearly closures are securely in place, then pull on my left
boot to repeat the procedure.

“No,” you mutter thickly. “Come here. Let me.”

I am uncertain. There is no time. No time…but I obey.

Once again I stand between your outstretched
thighs…wondering…wondering. Your hand penetrates the slit in my skirt
and grasps my knee.

I quiver.

Gently…but brooking no resistance, you part my thighs and place my foot
on the bed between your legs. Your palm extends.

“Button hook?” you rasp.

I feel your hands on my calf…holding me in place…inserting the hook
into the butter-soft leather again and again. My breathing becomes ragged
and uneven…moisture flows unbidden…drenching my auburn curls.

Higher…higher.

My thighs, open and vulnerable, begin to shiver beneath your touch.

No time.

No time.

No.

Time.

They reach my knee, your task complete, but still you hold me fast.

“Dan?” I ask.

A question? A plea?

Your eyes, smoky and glazed, form a response that no words could
approximate.

Slowly I feel the button hook trace a flaming trail along my inner thigh,
its bulbous, wooden handle still pressed tightly into your palm.

I shiver once again. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

The thin metallic shaft gently nudges the fragile elastic perimeter of my
panties. I feel it turn in your hand, the wooden knob warm against my
quivering flesh. My knees become weak. I brace myself against your
shoulders.

“Dan?”

I try to whisper once more, but the word dies silently in my throat…
desperation unanswered.

And then I hear the instrument of my torment thud heavily to the carpet
beneath my quaking form. Relieved, I begin to pull away.

“No,” you rasp, your voice heavy with need. “Not yet. Are you wet?”

My lips move incoherently, but words fail me. I’m helpless to
respond…mute…a prisoner. Slowly you insinuate your index finger beneath
the elastic…tracing the outline of my wet and dripping chasm.

You smile.

You stroke.

Then, in one swift, penetrating thrust, you plunge your finger deep within
my quivering core. I gasp…begin to fall…but you wrap your free arm
around my waist and hold me fast and unmoving as your finger continues its
maddening exploration.

Then, just as my world begins to fall apart…to shatter into a million
crystalline fragments… you withdraw.

I whimper as you raise your glistening digit to your lips, the residual
void a physical torment. “Not yet,” you whisper, watching my hunger engulf
me. “I want you to think of me this evening…to think, and feel,
and…anticipate.”

But I need something…anything…a balm to sooth the ache you have
awakened in me. I take your hand. “Let me…please,” I ask, my voice primal
with desperation.

Gently, greedily, I raise your finger to my mouth, stroking its length with
my tongue, drawing it deeply between my parted lips. The taste…a little
you…a lot of me, dissolves against my palate.

“We’re late,” I whisper. “I have to let go now.”

You nod, the gentle pressure of my mouth lingering on the tip of your
finger…and…(what’s that?)…a tiny smudge of pink lipstick carelessly
smeared across the pad. I reach to wipe it off, but you draw away.

“No,” you respond. “Leave it there. I want to remember you, and this, until
we get home.”

I blush. Your words penetrate deeper than your wayward digit ever could.

I want to be what you need tonight. I need to be what you want.

I want…

I want…

I need…
Part II

Him

I take your hand and lead you to the car, apparently all sense of
distraction at our earlier encounter erased. We walk with easy strides to
the door, and then you take my arm as we head outside. Our chariot awaits,
a new purchase with the signing bonus from my new company, a gleaming black
Mercedes, luxuriously appointed with a leather interior, something that
made your mouth water last night as I mentioned, oh so casually, what that
leather might feel like against certain elements of your anatomy, should
they come into direct, bare contact one with the other.

Always the gentleman, I open your door, and stare directly at the leg
briefly exposed to my view as you quietly seat yourself in the car, your
hands running along the seat beside you. Knowing your weakness for the
touch of leather on your skin, in fact the touch of any material on your
skin if properly applied, I smile to myself, knowing that such information
may yet come into greater use in our future.

I walk to my side of the car, proud of the woman I take with me tonight. I
smile wider at my choice of words, since taking you is ultimately my goal
for the evening, to see your body shake and tremble as your control
crumbles and the remnants are mine to devour. Voracious is a word you used
to describe me once, then I reminded you that my appetite knows
satisfaction in only one dish, at which point you laughed, a sound quickly
turning to a groan as my…but such a reminiscence is not yet ready to be
savored.

We have an appointment to keep.

I get in, starting the car and we pull from the driveway. I look over at
you as we go along, and we smile at each other, until I raise my finger to
my lips and lick it gently, and your eyes flutter as your hands move
involuntarily to the front of your skirt.

Then you feel my hand grasping your wrists as I speak.

“Not now. Wait.”

You groan at this, and I see your knuckles whiten slightly as you grip the
seat next to you, wanting to do more, knowing that yes, indeed, waiting is
best.

We arrive, and the gathering is buzzing with the predictable smattering of
wit nearly smothered by the obvious posturing of my colleagues. Hired as a
creative director for their public relations and communications department,
I know that this will never be a world entirely to our liking. But the
contacts made here will serve us both well, as the draft of your first
novel is nearly complete, and the work has begun on our collaboration on an
anthology sure to be a bestseller. We mingle, two creative minds veiled in
our proper attire and polite conversation, as dinner is soon served.

One thing that can be said for this company is that it is not entirely
bound by traditional dining experiences, as each couple is seated in fairly
private booths around the restaurant hired for the evening. They wish their
new employees to feel welcome, but do realize that allowing them to be
somewhat separated from each other will make them more comfortable. There
will be times to meet with clients at mass gatherings of nearly anonymous
people, but now is not such a time.

We sit side by side, perusing the menu, as I lean in to gently place my
lips at your neck. You blush, muttering something about the people around
us, but you know you enjoy it completely. Regardless, no one except the
waiter can really see us in this little nook. Then you feel my hand reach
for a button on your skirt. You place your hand over mine, saying no, but I
look in your eyes.

“Trust me. The tablecloth reaches almost to the floor…no one is looking,
and they could be standing right there, you could be naked from the waist
down, and no one would be the wiser.”

You relax, but only for a moment, as the first two buttons from your knee
are undone, and my hand does not stop its work. Soon they are undone to
just above the bottom of your panties, and your breathing has quickened
considerably.

I see our waiter a few tables away yet, taking orders for wine, and stop,
but my hand is cupping against the front of your panty clad entrance, and
my middle finger slides down and presses them in gently. Then our waiter is
here, and I remove my finger, but my hand stays in place. I order a bottle
of Zinfandel, knowing your penchant for a Mexican vintage of slightly more
intoxicating properties, but also aware of the possibilities yet to come.

You glance around nervously, but your legs, instead of closing against my
ministrations, have somehow opened wider, and I slip the tip of my finger
around your panties, as at last they touch the heat that I have been
feeling for the last few minutes.

You gasp, quietly, as I slip into your wetness, and begin to gently stroke
you. Another finger slips within, and you grind against them a little.

I whisper caution, as we don’t wish to cause any undue disturbance here. I
look at you, my right hand casually raising a glass of water to my lips,
talking to you all the while, as you struggle to maintain a statement of
normalcy. But you nearly fail, as the pressure of my fingers has stoked
once again the barely banked fires of passion that we crafted before
leaving the house for this evening. The wine arrives, and the waiter hands
me the cork for my approval. I take it in my left hand, extricating myself
from your panties, and sniff it. My fingers grasp it, and the scent of your
moisture is wafted toward my nostrils along with the product of the
vineyards.

“Excellent,” I declare, and he pours 2 glasses, replacing the cork in the
bottle as he goes.

I sip from my glass, and you do from yours, until I take the cork from the
bottle in my left hand and slide it below the table again. You look at me,
eyes widening as you begin to suspect my next destination. I nod gently,
and your legs open beneath my touch again.

You know I have no interest in placing anything but me inside you, but that
doesn’t mean I won’t tease you at all. The cork moves inside the nearly
non-existent panties, as I slide it against your lips, now nearly flooded
with your anticipation. Up, and down, you feel it rasping against you, then
it is removed, and I place it under my nose again.

“Delicious. A heady bouquet that could overpower, but yet remains
intriguingly subtle.”

You smile, and then our dinner arrives soon after. Throughout the meal, I
look at you, and you glance around nervously from time to time. Without my
touch, you have recalled your state, and the others around us. I decide to
distract you once more. I take from my plate a slice of chicken breast,
and, taking it from my fork, it begins its journey once again to your
waiting center. You look at me, a half smile on your face, knowing that
such as small piece of meat will barely register sensation, but you still
breathe in sharply as it brushes your lips again, as my fingers coax your
moisture along it.

I raise it again, and, placing it on my fork, I stare at it, noting the
glistening “sauce” that now coats its surface. I take a bite, and close my
eyes, savoring the taste of you mingling with the chicken in my mouth. I
offer it to you, and your mouth opens, but then I smile, and finish the
last of it myself. I tell you to button your skirt again, as it is about
time for us to leave.

You do, but leave a couple buttons undone…our dinner has left you a bit
more daring than when we arrived, and so a bit more of you will be obvious
to anyone noting our departure. And they will, as you and I together make a
rather striking couple, one in which onlookers are aware of our shared
passions and joys. You take my arm, and we stand for a moment as you adjust
your breathing, as the teasing through dinner has left you a bit breathless
with both the efforts and the anticipation of what yet is to come.

We drive home, our hands locked together, and you seek to bring our joined
hands to the front of you again, but I shake my head, pulling you away
again, and you moan, nearly whining, until I remind you that the waiting
draws the beauty out of passion.

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 derriere 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, and 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.
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, and 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.

Part VII

Her

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

The words…your words…echo repeatedly in my mind, between my legs, and
in the very pit of my stomach. Have I chosen well this night? Will I be
able to suffer the divine torture that is at hand without crying for mercy?
Will I account myself well? Will I please my Master?

The bench, now warmed by the heat of my flesh… moistened by the mingled
flow from my body, has become a safe haven to me…a thing that is known in
a place both foreign and terrifying. Oh!…to rest here…never to face
what will occur this night. Could I ask for more? But I know it is not to
be, for even as I play desperately with these thoughts, my Master unbinds
me…yet another trial awaits.

My hair has become a second leash…a handle by which I find myself
controlled…manipulated…molded into acquiescence.

“Kneel. Show me your tongue” I hear you say, your words slicing through the
darkness behind my blindfold like red-hot pokers. My tongue? My hands long
to reach out…my lips to embrace…but I am barred from such contact. My
tongue, and that alone must suffice. I am bewildered… lost…deprived of
the sensual interface which I crave…but I obey. I have no choice.

Restrained by your fingers, woven brutally through the locks of my hair, I
extend the warm, pink digit from between my lips and feel the salty taste
of your hardened member against its surface. Hungrily I swirl my tongue
along your pulsating shaft…longing for a reward perhaps?

[Am I doing well, my Master? Do I please you? May I now…]

But as quickly as it began, it’s over, and I once again I feel myself
propelled, directed, forced across the room by your unseen hand. I feel the
tension build between my thighs…moisture flowing wantonly, a sensuous
silkiness that floods my deprived senses.

Something hard…cold presses against my abdomen, and I find myself
positioned awkwardly over some sort of barrier. My wrists are once more
fettered, and I recall the voice of my aerobics instructor bidding us to
“touch (our) toes”. I feel my ankles being forced apart once again, and
secured “spread-eagle” on the far side of this strange and chill instrument
of my undoing. Once more I am humiliated… exposed as my posterior region
is laid open before your gaze.

The blood rushes to my head, and I strain my neck upward to clear my
thoughts…free myself from the pounding between my ears. Where are
You…my Master? What is to be my fate in this most uncomfortable of
postures? What do you…

“OH!”

I cry out as you penetrate me brutally from behind…the long, hard length
of you thrusting deeply within my moist, trembling core. Once more. And
again. You take no quarter, and I ask none, as you pound relentlessly into
my belly. My cries begin to take on a different timbre, as I attempt to
thrust against you…to hold you fast…to milk the essence from your body
and into my own. But once again my pleas fall on deaf ears… I am
thwarted… my prize is stolen from me, and I am destitute with the yawning
chasm of my desire left empty and abandoned.

“Show me your tongue,” you demand once more.

Obediently, I comply. Perhaps this time…?

And then I taste the sweet tang of my own juices, served up on a bed of
hardened flesh. Should I be repulsed? I know that I should, but this
contact…any contact indeed, has become an obsession. And so I extend my
tongue and taste what is offered me…gratefully…hungrily…lustily,
seeking more but restrained always by your unseen hand. Surely now I will
be allowed to…

“No!” [Your voice or my own?]

Again, as before, I am deprived even the most bestial of pleasures as my
bonds are released and I am propelled to yet another destination in this
seductive chamber of horrors. My legs begin to tremble, and my “safe word”
rises to my lips.

[Mercy]

I feel my body again restrained, my quivering legs forced apart and the
cold shackles of my next trial set in place. Can you see the unfettered
flow of my juices down the insides of my thighs…do you care…is it
allowed? A flush overcomes me. What do you think of me now?

My arms are likewise raised, and again I feel my freedom diminished by cold
steel, boundaries both cruel and unbreakable. My vulnerability overcomes
me. The helpless plight of my beleaguered limbs…my body… evokes a dim
terror deep in my bowels. Surely now I must cry out for respite? I feel my
tears curling softly down my cheeks…wetting the silk which now clings in
sodden folds against my skin. Perhaps my Master will see my plight and take
pity?

But something inside of me will not allow me to use the one thing that
could mean my salvation…[mercy]…and then that too is taken away.
Roughly, I feel the soft, leather sac of a gag being forced between my
teeth.

“No,” I scream, but my cries are stifled…held fast by this newest of
torments. Fear overcomes me. What of my “safe word”? Has my one and only
power, the one security to which I cling been taken from me?

I flex my wrists, my legs pumping uselessly beneath me. This was not our
deal…not in the silent bargain we’d struck at all. My options have been
obliterated…my “kill switch” disabled. I am at your mercy…and I fear
that you have none to give. I hear my voice, a muted scream lost in the
thick padding of this terrifying room you have designed.

“Please…no…no! Mercy!”

But my cried go unheard…swallowed up by the leather sac which presses
swollenly against my tongue. Hope crashes around me, destroyed by the
desperate terror, which dominates it.

And then I hear your voice parting the silence. A reprieve. Three nods, and
I will be spared. A mere three nods and all of this will be but a tortured,
erotic memory. Three nods and I will be once more free from this nightmare.

But I cannot.

Something inside of me forbids me to acquiesce…forbids me to seek the
shelter that I should crave so desperately. I will cry out…of that I am
certain. I will test my bonds with tortured limbs, struggling for the
freedom that three nods alone can give me. But I will not…cannot commit
the act that will win me my release. You have branded me in places most
invisible. I am Yours.

I nod my head once, and await the touch of my Master.

Part VIII

Him

I have never been more proud of you than I am at this moment. I lean
forward to whisper this to you, but I know too that this is a test for me
as well. Can I withstand the temptation of your helpless form any longer?
Will I be strong enough to withhold mercy long enough for you to achieve a
passion as yet only imagined in your darkest hours of dreaming?

For gone is my Sarah Rose, and in her place I have bound my Angel, hung
there for my taking. I smile at this, knowing that release awaits us both,
but in a fashion we have yet never experienced.

I walk to the front of you, my eyes drawn to your working limbs and your
heaving breasts, bisected by the leash, marring the surface of your perfect
skin. I see you begin to calm, and your head settles, resting now,
wondering what will come next. Your position, while helpless is far from
uncomfortable, but I can tell that your strength to stand will be sorely
tested. I turn, reaching behind me for an object I have yet left alone,
something I never would use outside these doors unless you said the words.
But you have, said them over and over again, in that silent language of a
body betraying a logical mind.

I see the message written in the glistening flow down your thighs. You want
more. Much more. But how much more you can stand will be something we both
shall find out soon enough. I stroke the tip of one achingly hard nipple
with what I have taken from the wall, and you stiffen, both in the taunting
pleasure and in the knowledge of what is being applied. It is a short
riding crop, designed to inflict sudden, searing pain, but to not mark its
target unless applied excessively. Used on horses, you will taste it
tonight on your skin. Not as a punishment, for no crime has been committed,
but as an understanding of yourself, of what you are capable of sustaining.
And of myself as well, knowing that you, in some part of your soul, need
and desire the completion this night will bring.

I stand behind you now, the crop sliding along the curves of you. You lunge
backward at me, trying to feel more, feel anything, and then I step closer.
My hand, gloved now in supple calfskin, cups your right breast. You
shudder, moaning loudly at the first hint of contact. I caress the nipple,
feeling its hardness straining under my ministrations. Then I place two
fingers on either side of your protruding need there on your breast, and I
begin to squeeze. Gently, applying more pressure. I see your head begin to
move, side to side, my eyes riveted to you watching for the only plea for
release to which I can respond. I let go, and the blood flows to it again,
hearing you sigh beneath the leather of your silencing. Then I fiercely
tweak it, and the hint of pleasure is nearly flooded away by the pain felt,
and just as suddenly, my left hand, armed with the crop, descends.

The contact of leather with bare, helpless flesh is one I have imagined for
quite some time. But your body’s thrashing at the dual impact of both the
leather crop and the mangling glove is one I had not anticipated. I nearly
give in, telling you how many more you will have to endure, as I see your
head loll to one side, the echoes of a stifled scream seared forever in my
memory.

I strike again, swiftly moving the other side of your body, my left hand
now renewing the assault on the left most sister of the previous victim. My
right hand bears the crop now, and it is applied swiftly. Once, twice,
alternating blows. I count, beginning a rhythm at the 3rd stroke that lasts
until… 10.

Yes, 10 will suffice. The tears are flowing down your cheeks freely now,
and I see you begin to nod your head to stave off further agonies. I step
away, and I see you raise your head as your body shakes with sobbing. My
Angel, my sweet one, my eyes are drawn to the gaping of your thighs. And I
see what I had feared might be absent…the glistening wetness has grown in
the candlelight. Your smothered cries now taper off to quaking sobs, as I
am transfixed at your body’s reaction to what has taken place. I step to
you, releasing hands and feet, and you crumple against me, your arms
seeking solace around my body. But I push your hands away, and you tighten
in my arms again. You had thought that this was the final test. And indeed,
in many ways it was.

But release…I crave such a thing from you in ways both familiar in their
end, but alien in what I have yet in mind for you.

I half carry you in your weakened state back to the table, laying you face
down where your torturous journey began. You sigh, still quaking in the
aftermath. I gaze at you, as your head rests on your arms, and I see the
redness raised by the leather as it colors the roundness of you. Unable to
control myself, I lay my lips along each cheek. Once. Briefly. You stiffen,
for that area is still too tender to touch, but you moan as well, craving
more from me. And more you shall have.

I run a wide strap underneath you, as you turn your head seeking me. I
secure the strap to its connections, but do not put it into use as yet.
Swiftly, your hands are again bound, as well as your ankles. The gag is
removed, and the leash is fastened to a ring in the floor. Some of this you
are able to perceive, while the rest is unknown to you.

You feel the table begin to lower beneath you, and then the strap is
tightened around your belly. As the table lowers, you are raised, until the
table stops, and you are drawn up on your hands and knees. You smile at the
strap, knowing that you savor this position anyway.

But the strap is to hold you up when you can no longer do so yourself. It
will secure you when your strength is gone and I am still taking you for my
pleasure. For such a thing will come to pass. And soon.

I walk to the front of you, and my hand grabs your hair. I pull your head
up.

“Open your mouth.”

You groan, hoping that at last this means what you have been craving for
these last hours. Your welcoming mouth opens to me, and then you are nearly
gagged as I plunge the length of me past your lips. You quickly recover, as
you try to relax your throat to accommodate me. But I am merciless,
ravaging your mouth as I will soon ravage the rest of you.

I stroke in and out, your hands straining to touch me, helpless there. Then
as quickly as I have begun, I pull away, and you hear me striding behind
you. You whimper, you moan, you nearly speak, but you know that such things
are not yet to be.

You nearly cry out Mercy! to end this now and enjoy what we have enjoyed so
often. But you cannot. You dare not.

Not yet.

Not now.

I position myself behind you. You hear buckling, straps being tightened,
then a sound you are not familiar with. Then, you feel something begin to
enter your dripping chasm. You tense, nearly crying mercy, for it is
unfamiliar…did I bring another here? Then your stomach leaps, and turns,
as you realize that while it feels lifelike, the object is decidedly not
human. Then, it is withdrawn. You sigh with relief, but also
disappointment. Disappointment. Such a mild word to describe the nearly
devastating withdrawal of the object.

Soon it returns, but only the head. Then you feel a more familiar object,
nudging at the entrance that now rests above. Lubricated, it begins to
nudge against you, and then my fingers move under you, working your
hardened secret. You gasp loudly, then scream, as both the real and the
manufactured me plunge into you. Hard. Brutal. And your mind briefly
wonders how…then you remember a picture we had seen of such a device. A
strap on for a man to pleasure his partner in both openings simultaneously.
You are revolted at the alien intrusion, but your body cannot deny what the
dual assault is doing for your pleasure. Kept on the brink so long, you
begin to tremble violently.

I sense this, and quickly withdraw. You cry out your denial of this event,
wordlessly. I stand back, watching your body heaving in the candlelight.
You are slumping against the strap now, me thankful for its presence… you
wishing it gone so that you could at last rest. But you hope, oh you hope
that this is not yet over.

I step behind you again, and without preamble, the ravaging of your most
secret places begins anew. I plunge in and out of you, my hands now absent
from your body, and you start to buck at me again. You are so close, your
release imminent, and then…

NO!!!

I withdraw again. I remove the apparatus, and step to you again… Me,
myself, all of me, is suddenly plunged into the raging torrent that washes
from between your thighs. You scream again, in the greatest of pleasure,
but this is not yet the time. I pull away, but I quickly return. To that
brutalized ring of muscle. That forbidden place where you seek my intrusion
so desperately. I plunge in and out, once, twice, again, then away.

My control is nearly done, as is yours. I stand now, silent, as your body
writhes in the hope that your movements will incite me to mercy that I will
return and satisfy the inferno, which my efforts and your own body’s
betrayal have stoked.

Part IX

Her

My body hangs, suspended and tortured from the strap that binds me so
totally…exposes me so completely. I have been ravaged in every orifice
that I possess, and yet the cruelest torment has been the yawning hunger
which screams in my mind each time you withdraw…leaving me empty and
unfulfilled…praying for the release that only you have the power to give
me.

I feel you move once again inside of me, plundering that which I have kept
for you alone…taking what you will with vicious thrusts of your body.

“Please,” I hear myself whisper, “No more. Finish me…finish me.” And then
it happens.

In one massive thrust you once again grasp my hips and join my body to
yours. All reason has fled. We are like two beasts in the field, coupling
urgently, desperately, all thoughts of civilized convention cast aside.

My pale tormented flesh, so ravaged by the lash, cringes as your assault
escalates. I cry out, over and over…but not my “word”…never
that…never that. I feel your crashing need plundering my delicate
passage, hammering deep within my belly…the pain…the pain…the
exquisite pain.

The room spins. My consciousness falters as wave after wave of shuddering
release wash over me, inundating me, swallowing me in its wake. I hear your
moan…loud and guttural as you spew your hot, thick seed deep into my
hungering maw…driving me…filling me…completing me. The room
darkens…the pain fades…and as I slip into one final moment of
consciousness I hear your strange strangled cry behind me.

Have I let you down, I wonder as the darkness overcomes me…have I let you
down?

Time passes [how long?].

Dimly, as though through a long and convoluted tunnel, I feel the firelight
once again on the backs of my eyelids. How long have I been lost…between
worlds? I have no idea.

My bonds have been removed, and I find myself curiously free once again,
lying as I was at the time of my devastation…on my stomach, atop the
leather couch upon which my tortuous adventure began.

I search the room. Have you gone? Have you left now that you have taken all
that I have to offer…all that I have to give? And then I see you, sitting
slumped in the soft leather chair, staring at my naked form in the
firelight.

Did I use my “safe word”? In my abandon, did it slip from my lips…have I
failed my test…my trial? I can’t allow this to happen…I must continue
until all has been resolved… until…

Frantically, I scan the wall upon which so many curious and painful
implements reside. Surely redemption can be found there. There must be
something with which I can prove myself to you…to atone for my obvious
failures.

And then I spy them…deceptively small…the thought chilling me to the
bone…but it must be done. There is nothing else…nothing.

Weak and faltering, I force my body upward and stagger across the floor
toward my objective. I pause. Do I have the strength? Can I endure the
pain?

My hand, shaking uncontrollably, extends before me, and I feel my fingers
curl around the cruel steel teeth that I know will soon ravage my flesh. I
tremble. Already my body is responding to what I know is to come…to the
unbearable torment that my tender nipples will soon endure. Gently, I draw
the dusky flesh into my palm, tenderly caressing it to a rigid peak as
though to apologize for what I am to do. The jaws gleam hungrily in the
firelight…I close my eyes.

And then I feel it.

Your arms circling my trembling body…your lips against my throat…

And your tears.

Your hand covers mine, releasing my rigid grasp…the steel clamps dropping
softly to the carpet.

“No more, Sarah Rose…no more.”

“Mercy…”

I turn to you, my eyes wide in amazement, unable to believe the word that
has escaped your lips. It is then, and only then that I realize my journey
was not taken alone…that you have been with me at every turn. My pain has
been yours as well. We are fellow travelers. Lovers who have transcended
the bonds of here and now…the mundane world. Survivors.

My strength falters, my knees quiver uselessly. Gently I feel myself swept
up into your arms…so strong…so protective as you carry me from the
chamber into the sheltered security of our bedroom, and place me…ever so
tenderly beneath the down comforter atop our big, soft bed. You slide in
beside me and I feel your lips nudge the frown lines from my forehead…a
final passing of what was…a homecoming.

The clock ticks…tiny heartbeats lost in infinity…and I begin to drift
off…lost in the safe haven of your arms.

But as I close my eyes one final time, I hear deep within me the “word” I
held so guardedly inside, the one that only now I fully understand. It is a
word that would have signaled my ultimate surrender…a word connoting
compassion, a blessing…escaping now from my lips in hushed and reverent
tones.

“Mercy,” I murmur softly as I mold my body to yours… “mercy…”

The End

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