“Small Mercies”

By Katherine English and Steven Whitman

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, 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 an 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 derrière 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, 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 2^nd 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, 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 3^rd 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, 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

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