Mercy (15 page)

And we lived a gargantuan lie, at least I did, because he didn’t want a girlfriend, and I was utterly, completely in love with him. I would never have said so to him because I think if I had, he would have ended us at once. So I was truthful as I could be with him within that restrictive framework of deceit.

Yes, I adored Matthew completely, and grasped at all the small, caring things he did for me. I treasured those fleeting moments of affection like jewels, beautiful sparkling jewels among the many harsh rocks he threw at me. Rocks and stones and boulders, I got it all from him. I never knew exactly what I would get each time I showed up. Sometimes he was easy-going, others he was harsh. Sometimes the rules seemed to relax into comfortable play time, and sometimes the rules brought nothing but pain.

One night Matthew picked me up at the stage door instead of Davis. He told me he’d been at the show. “I love to watch you dance,” he’d said with true admiration. The way it made me feel, I thought I would float away. Then he said, “I’m feeling really nasty tonight. I hope you’re ready.”

“Yes, Matthew, I’m ready.” By that point I was ready for anything, and the idea of him feeling nasty...well, what else was new?

As soon as we got to the basement, he started to strip. “Wait and let me undress you,” he said. When he was naked in all his tall, strong beauty, he crossed to me and undressed me, taking his time.

“You look cute tonight.”

“Thank you, Matthew.”

“Do you know what rimming is?”

“Yes, Matthew.”

“Have you done it before?”

“No, sir.”

While he talked to me, his hands roved over me. He ran his fingers along the marks that still lingered from our last session. He slid his fingers between my legs, gathering the moisture there, then drew them up to finger my asshole.

“Did you touch yourself while you were away from me?”

“No, sir.” He looked at me to ascertain that I gave him truth. He nodded, convinced.

“Good girl. Come on then. I’ve been hard for you since you left. And I
have
been touching myself,” he added with a smirk. “Come here and kneel between my legs. Kneel up straight and listen to me.”

I knelt in front of him and he scooted to the edge of the sofa, his thighs spread wide on either side of me.

“Look at my cock while I talk to you, Lucy.”

Obediently, I did as he asked, and then he schooled me in the finer arts of fellatio while I explored his cock and more. I learned the precise and ticklish way he liked me to lick his perineum, and practiced some more at licking and sucking his balls. Then he fed instructions to me as I lapped at his asshole, and all the instructions were gratefully appreciated because I would never have figured out how to do it on my own. These were all things that I never would have done, that I never would have even considered or even known about, if I’d been married to Joe. Or maybe he would have eventually asked for them, but I didn’t think so. For Matthew, they were just more of what he liked.

I was rewarded after his very instructive session by his cock shoved down my throat, a couple of thrusts, and loads and loads of cum. As usual, I savored it with a moan.

“Thank me,” he gasped when he was able to.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You like to swallow my cum?”

“I love to.”

“You liked to jam your tongue in my ass?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Come here. Lay across my lap.”

I did, and at once, he started to spank me. He’d never spanked me like this, not over his knee. His hand hurt like crazy. I was shocked it could hurt so much, just as much as the harder implements. I kicked my legs a little just to work through the unrelenting stinging pain. It was so hard not being restrained. He put up with my fidgeting for a while, but then ordered me to be still. It was too difficult. I flinched and tensed from the fiery slaps to my ass. He pulled my arm back hard.

“Stop it. Don’t tense, it makes my hand hurt. Let me spank you.” He pulled at my hips, making me arch to him. “There. Now behave.”

But it was hard to behave, really hard. I still tensed under the blows, and finally, with a frustrated exhalation, he pushed me off him.

“Stand up. Look at me.” I did, apologetic and ashamed. “Go to the armoire and bring me the toy you wore Tuesday night, the cinnamon lube, and the hairbrush.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hurry.”

So I hurried to get them, and returned. He pulled me back over his lap. Again he forced my hips up so my ass was thrust out in front of him. He lubed up the toy and tried to shove it in, but I tensed again. I couldn’t help it.

“Open, open up,” he ordered, slapping my ass.

He thrust some lube inside me and tried again. This time, with steady pressure, the toy entered me. It was one of the bigger ones, though still not as big as him. Right around the time he got it inside me, I realized that the cinnamon lube stung. I started to squirm with rising panic as he whacked away at me with the hair brush.

“Matthew!”

“Hush.”
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

“Matthew, it stings!”

“Yes, it’s meant to. You need to learn not to tense and clench when I spank your ass.”

I moaned plaintively, squirming away from the blows, begging for respite.

“Enough!” he snapped, and paddled me harder, lecturing in a stern voice. “When you clench, it not only hurts my hand, but you bruise more. You’re the one that always complains about the marks with your dancing. You’ll do better if you learn to relax and accept the pain. That goes for
assfucking
too, while we’re on the subject.”

I just whimpered, kicking my legs like a naughty little whore. He continued paddling my ass to molten fire with the hairbrush while my asshole stung horribly from the sensation of the lube. Finally he put the brush down next to him.

“Now you lie still. I have some reading to do.”

I lay there across his lap for fifteen minutes while he read some developer’s report. My ass was throbbing and so hot with pain it felt like it radiated heat. If I tensed or fidgeted against his thighs, he picked up the brush and cracked me again. I tried to be good, I lay as still as I could, but I ended up getting quite a few swats, each one more excruciating than the last on my tender ass cheeks.

Finally he pushed me off his lap and had me kneel in front of him, and then he reviewed everything I’d learned earlier by having me rim and lick and suck him all over again. I was still distracted by the sting in my asshole, so he pinched my nipples hard and held them that way to make me concentrate.

“For fuck’s sake, Lucy. Some enthusiasm. Open your throat. Get your tongue wet for me. Poke that wet little tongue of yours right into my asshole.” The orders came hard and fast, just like him. When I’d swallowed his cum, and he’d finally released my aching nipples, he looked down at me with an approving smile.

“Good girl. You’re a quick learner. I told you I felt nasty tonight.” I felt nasty too, with the toy in my ass, stinging and throbbing, making me feel so full. “Stand up,” he said, looking me over. “Don’t move.” He got a scary gleam in his eye. He went to the armoire and returned with a massive dildo. I watched warily. It would never fit.

“Come here. Come on.” He put the dildo down, pointing up, on one of the smaller ottomans. “Sit down on it,” he said. “Straddle the ottoman and work your hot little
cunt
down on this. I know you’ll like having both your holes stuffed. Won’t you, Lucy?”

“Yes, sir,” I said obediently.

He held my hand to help me balance as I did what he asked. “All the way,” he said. I slowly took it in, my legs trembling. I took my time, and he waited patiently, but once it was fully seated, he pushed me down on it even more. He parted my legs wider, pulling my hips yet again to arch my bottom out. Then he fastened my hands together with cuffs at the small of my back and left me, returning to the sofa to pick up his report. I looked back at him for a moment, my eyes pleading.

“Keep your back straight. Turn around,” he said, not even looking up from the page.

So I sat there while he did his work. My cunt burned from the dildo and my ass burned from the plug. I could feel that I was soaking the ottoman too, absolutely soaking it with the lust between my legs. I was facing away from him so I couldn’t tell if he watched me, but even so, I kept my bottom thrust out the way he liked. I’m sure it was fiery red from the spanking, I could feel it throb, the endlessly erotic sting. I had no idea how long I sat there. It felt like forever as I tried not to come.

“Lucy,” he said finally.

I turned to look back at him. I can’t imagine what my expression was. Desire. Desperation.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes, Matthew.”

“Don’t you dare come.”

“No, sir.”

He got up, the bottle of lube in his hand. He squirted a generous dollop of it onto his fingers. Then, holding my eyes with a knowing look, he reached down and parted my pussy lips, and deposited that stinging lube right onto my engorged clit.

“This should make things interesting for you.”

All I could do was look at him and let out a soft sob. He ambled back to the sofa.

“Don’t come, Lucy.”

I clenched my hands into fists, dangerously aroused. My hips began to move an infinitesimal amount, against my will, just carnal, irresistible drive. I looked back at him, my eyes wide and begging as my clit caught fire.

“Don’t. Dare. Come. Don’t do it, Lucy. You know it means twenty. I’ll use the crop on you this time.”

I sighed and turned away from him. I would have given anything to touch my burning hot, wet clit, to rub myself into oblivion. It would have taken me seconds to come. I was almost to the point where I would have taken twenty with the crop just to have that release.

But he wasn’t finished with me yet. No, not Matthew. After five minutes or so of that torture, he crossed to the armoire again. He returned with some tiny silver clips in his hand. I shook my head in denial.

“You are not to come from these clips on your
titties
. Do you understand?”

I gave a quick sob at the same time I whispered, “Yes, sir.” Then I begged. “Please, Matthew—”

“No. Control yourself. I said no.”

He caressed my taut nipples, then took the first between his fingers and put the clip on. I gasped, short frantic breaths. He caressed the other, then squeezed it and clipped it too. I tried, I really did try, but a moment later, I came. I came like a volcano, utterly out of control, my eyes squeezed shut, my hips jerking on the ottoman, pure mindless physical reaction. The orgasm went on and on as my walls clenched around the toys inside me, my nipples aching from the bite of the clips. When I finally came to my senses, I looked up at him, tearful and ashamed.

He looked back at me, shaking his head and
tsking
. “You naughty, naughty girl.” He took my chin in his hand and squeezed it, his thumb caressing my cheek. “Naughty little slut, always coming without permission.”

I sobbed guiltily because I knew that was what he wanted me to do, just as I knew that he’d actually expected me to come. Wanted me to come, because then he could punish me, exactly the way I liked.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I moaned. He ignored me and went to the armoire for the crop. He held it in front of my face and tapped my cheek lightly with it.

“Twenty. You’ll count.”

Then he started to crop me, hot, merciless slaps of pain, and I counted, helpless, still stuffed in both holes. My hands made fists and I was glad that I was cuffed because it would have been impossible not to shield myself. Halfway through, he grabbed my hands and pulled them up so my back was even more arched, my bottom even more exposed. Each stroke of the crop was a lick of white fire. I counted, half gasps, half shrieks.