Mercy (17 page)

Then there was one strange night that confused and unnerved me, a night when I’d taken a hard fall at practice and been laid up in my apartment. I let him know I’d be unable to play, that I couldn’t come over. An hour later, he was knocking on my door.

I’m sure he partly came by to be sure I wasn’t lying, to be sure there wasn’t another man in my life, but I hoped he came to check on me too, to be sure I was all right. And to be honest, I wasn’t all right. I was lonely, and scared like any dancer nursing an injury, no matter how small.

“Matthew!” I was shocked to open the door and find him standing there. He’d never been to my place. It was a mess. I looked like hell in my ratty pajamas, my eyes red and swollen from crying. “I really can’t play.”

“I know.” He breezed into my apartment, a market bag in his hand. “I haven’t come to fuck you.”

He reached into the bag with a flourish, like a magician about to pull a rabbit from a hat. Instead he pulled out a pint of ice cream. I burst into tears.

“I swear I’ll throw this at your head.” He turned his back on me. “Get into bed.” He rooted through my kitchen drawers until he found a spoon and returned, crawling under the covers beside me. It was just a twin, which made him seem even larger than usual, and he had to scoot close to me to not fall off the edge. He looked out of place in my tiny, messy apartment, and yet, right at home. Thinking about that, how easily he adapted to my squalid little surroundings, made me burst into emotional tears again.

“Enough. Quit your crying. What happened?” I think he thought I was crying about my knee. I explained how I’d fallen, that I wanted to stay off my knee as a precaution. He was highly suspicious even then of my injuries, the pain he suspected I felt.

“How long will you be off?”

“Just tonight. Long enough for it to rest. To make sure there’s no serious damage.”

He looked at me still, hard and assessing, and then decided not to speak. Instead, he pressed the freezing pint of ice cream to my nipple, and smiled broadly when I shrieked.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” I said, although I wasn’t. He ended up eating most of the ice cream himself. Ice cream wasn’t something dancers ate before bed, but I took a few small bites to mollify him.

“Look at you. Take a real bite!”

“I am!”

He scooped a huge spoonful from the bottom of the carton. “Open up.”

I laughed as he brandished the spoon at me. “Matthew, stop!”

“Open your fucking mouth.” He fed me the spoonful, letting me lick it off slowly instead of shoving it all into my mouth the way I think he wanted to. I teased him a little, using my tongue to do things to that ice cream that I usually only did to him. He chuckled. “That’s right, you eat it all, you little fuck.”

“You’re trying to make me fat.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

We laughed there together on my small, lumpy bed. I looked over at him, Mr. Matthew Norris sitting in my pitiful apartment, and I thought I would just die. I was so hopelessly in love with him. I looked away, because his blue eyes were bright and burning.
Don’t look at me. You’ll see.

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

“I do too, Matthew.”

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

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

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

“Mm. I’m sure you could find a way.”

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

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

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

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

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Am I hurting your knee?”

“No! No...”
No, don’t stop.

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

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

I made a helpless noise of denial. His fingers left me, and I watched in fascination as lowered his mouth to my pussy.
Oh, my God.
I moaned under the manipulations of his talented tongue. He brushed his lips against my clit with a sensuous skill that had me trembling. I had never enjoyed receiving oral before. When Joe had gone down on me, it felt so submissive on his part that it wasn’t sexy at all. The way Matthew did it, there was no question he was in charge. He held my thighs hard and had his way with me. Just as I reached the point of climax, begging for release, he stopped. He only smiled at my frustrated wail, looking down at me with those piercing, intent eyes. When I returned from the brink, he started all over, and did it again. And again.

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

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

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

“Do you have condoms here?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In the bathroom, in the drawer.”

Again, after he’d been to the bathroom drawer, and rolled a condom onto his cock, and pushed inside me, again he whispered, “Tell me if it hurts.”

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

“You know,” I finally said against his skin, trying not to tremble. “You can be really gentle. I never suspected.”

“Strange, huh?” He took his condom off and tossed it away, then lay back beside me. I looked at him and wondered how he’d come to be the man that he was, wondered that he had this tender, nurturing side he’d never shown me before. I was unbalanced by it, and yet fascinated. The rules that ordered our world were suddenly undefined there in my bed, and I took advantage, trying to draw him out at the same time I was afraid of what I’d learn.

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

“Rough sex? Is that what we have?”

“Isn’t it?”

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

“Because you beat my ass hard and often.”

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

“When did you first spank a woman?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“A closet submissive.”

“I guess.”

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

“You’re not bored of me yet?”

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

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

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

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

“Have you? Quitter.”

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

I squeezed my legs together and arched my bottom to him. He lubed up the toy and began to press it into my asshole.