Mercy (18 page)

“Open,” he said, slapping my cheeks. “Don’t tense up and make me shove it in.” He finally drove the toy home deep inside me, so I was stretched open and totally in thrall to him.

He got the crop next and whipped me hard, to punish me, yes, but for the sheer fun of it, too. No lectures, no frowning, no deriding my oral sex capabilities. He whipped me just to see me jump. Blow after sharp blow fell. I cried eventually, even though it wasn’t a long beating. I almost always cried, even with my tolerance for pain. But as usual, I was so turned on by the end of it that my pussy was dripping with lust.

He sheathed himself, then knelt and thrust into me from behind, coming over my back, his weight pushing me down. His cock inside me rubbed up and back against the anal plug. I moaned like a slut at how decadent it felt. Within minutes I was trembling, tensing.

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes, Matthew!”

“Beg me.”

“Please, please, let me come, Matthew!”

“Try again. That’s pitiful.”

“Please, please let me come with your cock inside me, and the toy in my ass! Please, Matthew! It feels so good. It makes me feel like a whore—”

“Because you are a whore.” He whacked my ass with his hand.

“I know, Matthew. I am!” Davis witnessed all of this but I didn’t care.

“You wait until I say, you slutty little tramp.” He fucked me hard then, hard and brutal. “You like it in both holes?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes, Matthew!”

He undid the cuffs and pulled me to the floor. He took the toy from my ass and worked his dick in. I moaned from the rough pain and pleasure.

“Spread your legs wider! Wide apart!”

I complied, and he drove deeper, so deep I thought he might split me in two. The orgasm came over me like wildfire, hot and searing. He held me down as I shook myself free of every last vestige of my pride and identity. I was his fuck toy, pure and simple. He came less than a minute later, jerking against my ass. It was then I realized I hadn’t asked permission for my orgasm.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said when I could breathe again. “I’m so sorry I came.” But I wasn’t really sorry, even when he brought out the cane. He handed it to Davis.

“Punish her,” he told him. “Not too hard, though. She’s a hell of a fuck, and you can have what’s left of her when you’re through.”

Ever the obedient lackey, Davis started to cane me. It was the first time Matthew had someone else join us, and while I’d liked having Davis watch, I liked less having him join in. I realized quickly how careful Matthew was, that I’d never appreciated Matthew’s finesse at giving me pain. Davis beat me like a dog. I screamed each time his arm fell, and it only took five excruciating blows for him to draw blood. Matthew stopped him then, taking the cane and handing him a condom.

“We can share her now,” he said. “You can use her cunt and I’ll use her mouth. You saw how she likes having all her holes filled.”

I lay still, reeling as they discussed how to take me. I watched from some kind of dissociative state as Davis picked up my legs and thrust deep into my still slippery pussy. Matthew knelt with one thigh on either side of my head and jammed his cock deep down my throat. They both fucked me, and I lay there like a good girl, like the good girl he’d trained me to be.

And as I lay there still and quiet, I thought,
this, this is what he meant about using me. This is what it really feels like to be used.

Chapter Eight: Shame

He pulled me upstairs afterward, showered me off under water that was barely warm. He waited long enough for me to brush my teeth, brush the taste of his cum away, and then he pushed me towards the bed.

He was furious. I didn’t know why. I’d done what he asked, even let Davis fuck me and draw my blood. I didn’t understand the scene that had just happened, and I felt I had no right to make him explain. And honestly, I didn’t want to know why he had wanted it. So I just lay silently beside him, traumatized and numb.

Had he expected me to rebel against him, refuse to let Davis use me? There were so many rules I didn’t know or understand. I thought again of how it had felt, pinned by both men, used as an abject receptacle. Shared.
Abused.
My mind whispered the word again and again.
Abuse.
Had he crossed a line? Should I have stopped him? Could I have stopped him? I could have. But what upset me the most was that he’d wanted to share me and treat me so cruelly in the first place.

My mind raced, replaying the scene again and again in my mind, and then a small rebellion, a tiny spark of rebellion began to grow. I could hear him breathing steadily beside me, feel the bed shift under his weight. I thought of the quiet, calm way he’d invited Davis to have me, the cold way he’d knelt over me and shoved his cock down my throat, and it suddenly seemed to me that this was someone I should hate. I started to tremble from the horrible need to act, and then I did act. I decided to leave.

Well, I decided, but I didn’t just get up and do it, at least not right away. No, I started to inch, millimeter by millimeter, to the edge of the bed. When I was far enough away from him where I thought he wouldn’t grab me, I lay the sheets back carefully and rolled onto my feet. I got probably four feet away from him before he said to me, “No.” He said “no,” but it sounded more like
don’t you dare
. The ice in his voice was enough to freeze me. He put on his bedside light and sat up, frowning at me, cool determination in his icy blue eyes.

“You come now, Lucy, and you get right back into bed.”

I was shaking so hard I thought my legs would give out, and I suddenly felt very naked, more naked than I’d been in my life. I wrapped my arms around my front, tried to cover myself the exact way he’d forbidden me to the very first day, and started to cry.

“Stop it,” he snapped, but I shook my head.

“I can’t,” I bawled. “I can’t.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t move or speak, because I think he realized that if he pushed me any more right then, I would have snapped. And strangely enough, through all this, I went nowhere. I just stood still there like a statue in front of him and continued to cry. I didn’t make any more effort to leave, nor did I return to his bed. I just stood. It seemed like I stood there for an hour in time, but it was probably only five minutes, five silent minutes of trembling, passive revolt.

“You’re shivering. Just fucking come back to bed.”

“I hate you.” It felt good to say it even if it was a lie.

He looked away from me and bit his lip. Trying to keep his temper? Or had I actually hurt his feelings, my indefatigable tyrant?

“There are a lot worse things I could do to you, Lucy! A lot worse things!”

“Why do you do it at all? Why do you do these things to me? Why did you share me with Davis, humiliate me—”

“Humiliate you? I promise you, I’ve not even begun to humiliate you. I’m ridiculously soft on you—”

“Why? Just tell me why!” I interrupted him. At any other time, he would have beat me silly for that. But now, our rigid rules seemed suspended, put aside for something more important and raw.

“That’s none of your fucking business! I don’t have to explain myself to you!”

“It’s because you hate me!” I screamed at him.

“I don’t hate you! That’s fucking ridiculous!”

“You hate women!” I insisted, and then he threw off the covers, walked over to me, and grabbed my face.

“Don’t you ever, ever presume to tell me what I hate,” he said through tightly clenched teeth. “Now you listen to me, you stupid little fuck. You can either get back into bed with me and shut your fucking mouth, or you can walk out that fucking door and go home.” He looked hard into my eyes, squeezing my chin between his fingers. “But you think first. You think really hard, Lucy Merritt. Because I promise you, if you walk now, you’re never coming back.”

He let go of my chin, and not gently either. My head snapped back and I bit my lip. He walked back and got into the bed, pulling the sheets down roughly, while I stood, mute and stupid, rubbing my lip.

“Get over here!” he barked. “Do not make me drag you.”

I still just stood there looking at him. What would he do if I came back to the bed? It seemed all of a sudden that I was standing on a precipice, one of those cartoon types, where there was nowhere to go but down. Just one tall rock in the middle of the desert, with only enough room for my two feet to stand. All around, a sheer drop off, like a cliff.

Well, hook an anvil to me. I was going down.

I walked over to the bed, never taking my eyes off him. As soon as I was under the covers, he grabbed me and pulled me under him. His cock reared between my thighs.

“Don’t you even move, you stupid little fuck.”

He rolled on a condom and kicked my legs apart with his knee.

“Look at me!” My eyes flew to his, because there was a tone to his voice I’d never heard. He grabbed my hands and pulled them taut over my head, and he just fucked me, his face inches from mine. As he fucked me, he started to talk to me, low and threatening, in a strange icy cadence to the punishing force of his thrusts.

“Don’t you ever yell at me like that again. Don’t you ever ask me questions. Don’t you ever tell me how I feel about you.” Then his eyes got even harder, narrowed dangerously. “Don’t you ever try to steal away from me in the night, just don’t. You’re mine, Lucy, don’t you realize that? You’re mine and you always will be.” Then he repeated it to me again and again, in time to his fucking, as if he was trying to burn it on my brain.
You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.
Then he pinched my nipples hard, so hard that it took my breath away, and he licked at the pulse in my neck and said, “Come for me.”

All he ever had to do was say it. Barely a moment later, I came apart in his arms. I felt punished and helpless, the orgasm racking my body even as hot tears wet my cheeks. He clasped me close when he came, while I was still shuddering. I thought I felt him shudder a little too.

When our breathing slowed, he stood and left me. I thought he was going to punish me then, which I fully expected. When he came back to the bed, I braced for clips, restraints, and pain, but he rolled me over and put his hand on my back.

“Lie still.”

He began to rub my bottom, my painful striped cheeks. The small amount of blood that Davis had drawn had long ago scabbed over, but it still smarted, it still ached. Slowly, gently, Matthew applied salve to it, rubbed soothing cool salve all over my ass. Who knew he even had salve in the house? He’d never so much as offered it to me. I started to cry just because he was being tender. He hated it when I was emotional like that, but he didn’t reprimand me. What he actually said to me was, “I’m sorry.”

He said it so quietly I almost didn’t believe my ears. But then he said it again, louder, “I’m sorry,” and my tears flowed hopelessly then. “Not sorry about Davis,” he qualified. “You agreed to let me use you in that room however I liked. No, I’m sorry because I broke a promise to you, a promise I made to never draw blood.”

“But you didn’t draw it, Matthew.” I was so sick for him, I would excuse him, even now.

“No, I didn’t, and I wouldn’t. But when I handed someone like him a cane, I might as well have.” He put his hand on my back and rubbed me all over, lazy and slow. “Anyway, I’m sorry, Lucy. I hope it doesn’t leave a scar.”

I hadn’t even thought of scars. Was that the point, no scars left behind? No souvenirs to remember him by?

“I’ll have to punish you tomorrow,” he said as he rubbed the knots from my neck. I moaned softly, maybe from fear, maybe from pleasure. Who knows, at that point?