by Hall, Denise
“If left up to me, I’d have caned you,” he said over her cries. He made her bottom dance over his knee, and when her feet snapped up in sad defense of her thighs, he spanked the soles and the backs of her shins until she put them down again. “You were warned. Tettel, record that she took the second half of her spanking badly and the count was restarted.”
“NOOO!” she wailed, then her screams took over her voice as the rapid rise and fall of his hand attacked the summits of her aching buttocks all over again. “PLEEEEAAASSSSSSE! OW!”
The ten to her bottom felt as though administered by a hot iron. The twenty down the backs of her thighs felt as though he were skinning her flesh away.
Hutch caught her legs when she desperately tried again to cover her bottom.
“Let her go,” Deaton said. “She can take her whipping properly, or she can take the consequences.”
“She’s not even hearing you anymore,” Hutch argued. “You may as well beat a dumb animal.”
Deaton snorted. “You’re going soft, Hutch.”
The dark master finished his count just above her knees, and Mercy finally fell limp across his lap, too exhausted by the hurt to even notice that the spanking had stopped. Not bothering to hold her while she cried, he dumped her unceremoniously onto the floor. Grabbing her bottom in both hands, she curled into a ball on her side. She turned her face into the floor, and sobbed until she felt wrung out and dry of all tears.
“You’re a hard man,” Hutch said, but there was little censor in his tone.
“It’s not mercy she wants,” Deaton replied, his dark eyes glittering down on her crumpled form. Leaving her where she’d fallen, he picked up his tunic.
“Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime,” Deaton said, and walked out of the room.
Hutch reached down, gently laying a hand on her back. While she sniffed and gasped for breath, he softly rubbed her shoulders. “If I know Shipe, he’s going to be waiting for you back in his quarters. You’d better pull yourself together, little one, and head on home before he comes looking for you.”
* * * *
Mercy hadn’t been asleep for very long when she became aware of a light disrupting the closet’s comfortable darkness.
She lifted her head from the pillow, still lying on her stomach, nude, covered by the blankets only to her knees since even the lightest touch of fabric against her bottom and thighs was unendurable. She rubbed her eyes and blearily looked back over her shoulder at the open door. The light was blinding, and she blinked several times to clear her sight as she rolled onto her side.
Haloed by light, Shipe stared back at her, his face an emotionless mask. His eyes moved once over her body, and her nipples instantly responded by tightening into peaks.
“Get up,” he said, and limped back out of the doorway.
Still blinking, at first Mercy didn’t move. Then, panting through the pain of pushing to her feet, she shuffled gingerly after him, her hands clasped just under her chin, both to hide the stiffening of her nipples and to muffle her yawns.
Leaning on his crutch, moving slowly as if he hadn’t yet made up his mind, he crossed the room to his bed. He never looked back in her direction. He just took both his pillows and lay them one on top of the other on the edge of the bed. He sat down next to them and lay his crutch on the floor.
“Come here.” Still without looking at her, he pulled his tunic up over his head. Hard muscle played across his chest as he tossed it aside.
A twitch of awareness tickled down through her womb. Her hands clasped and unclasped; her feet moved as though they were someone else’s, carrying her to the sleigh-styled king-sized bed. When he reached for his belt, her breath caught and her feet hesitated. But he merely took it off and dropped it, too, on the floor. Swallowing a soft, giddy sound, she stepped in front of him.
“Put your hands down,” he said, still without looking up.
Her eyes fell to his lap as he began to unfasten his pants. She gradually lowered her hands, folding her fingers into nervous little fists as the buttons of his pants came apart and the thin line of hair leading down his chiseled abdomen widened into a thatch of springy black curls.
Between the hair and the equally dark pants, Mercy could only glimpse a sliver of pink flesh, but as she looked, it burgeoned and thickened under her gaze. A languid heat flared between her thighs and her eyes snapped up to find Shipe watching her, the intensity of his stare sending the warmth surging up to her belly, tangling her stomach into nervous knots and igniting every fiber of her being into sparks of anticipation.
He reached for her breast and her eyes closed. She whimpered when his fingers closed over one taut peak, firmly, the pressure just shy of being painful, and pulled her to stand between his thighs.
“Down on your knees,” he said huskily. He let go of her tender nipple and her back tried to arch as if wanting to push her breast back into his palm.
Mercy looked down into the open ‘v’ of his pants. There was a definite mound there, his arousal swelling the front until she could see the stiff outline of his manhood pushing against the dark cloth. She went down on her knees, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.
Leaning back on one arm, he lifted his hips and shucked his pants down his legs. He bent to pull them all the way off, and the cock that sprang stiffly free of its confinement was as hard and as solid as the rest of him, and very thick. Her sex quivered deliciously. She drew a heady breath as he lay his hand on top of her head, weaving his fingers through her hair to get a good grip.
“Richard,” she squeaked, “h-he didn’t like it when I—”
“I could give a goddamn what he liked,” Shipe growled. “Don’t mention his name to me again.”
Mercy licked her lips again. She couldn’t make herself look away from the mushroom head of him. It was so swollen, it seemed to throb before her eyes. Sheepishly, she admitted, “I’m not very good at this.”
“Then you’ll learn.” Shipe pushed her head into his lap.
She saw his eyes drift shut when the heat of her mouth closed around him and a tiny thrill of delight raced through her. His hand in her hair set the rhythm, showing her what he liked. It didn’t take long for her jaw to start aching, but when he moaned, she happily redoubled her efforts. His hips began to thrust, and to steady herself, she caught hold of his knees. Or at least one of them. The stump of his leg within her palm felt smooth and hard, rippled at the end from the scars of amputation.
Shipe released her hair instantly and grabbed her hand, yanking it from the end of his stump. His cock left her mouth with a wet sucking pop, and she sat up, breathing raggedly, unsure if he was angry or if she should stop. They stared at one another, neither moving until he took her offending hand and shifted it between his legs instead.
“Gently,” he said, as she caressed the smooth pouch of his balls. He reached for her head again, and she willingly took him back into her mouth. Her whole body rocked as she bobbed upon the length of him, his gasps, grunts, and moans encouraging her to go faster, slower, to fondle with her hand, and even to squeeze just a little, which caused the barest salty taste of him to spill across her tongue.
Her jaw hurt as much as her bottom before he finally panted, “Enough. Enough, goddamn it!”
And Mercy reluctantly raised her head. She stroked him one a final time, the thick length like satin over steel in her hand. She licked her lips, savoring the taste that lingered in her mouth.
Eyes closed, head tipped back on his shoulders, Shipe struggled for control. The cords in his neck were straining and his groan was more of a growl when he eventually raised his head and said, “Get your ass over the pillows.”
Mercy scrambled to obey, throwing herself face down on the bed and spreading her legs wide. That languid sensual heat was rolling inside her. Already her clit was throbbing, as though he were caressing her there. An involuntary cry of eagerness spilled past her lips when he stood up, and she wiggled as he leaned over her, tiltin
g her hips back into the cradle of his and stifling a moan when she felt that thick shaft nudge up against her sex.
He lifted her left knee all the way onto the bed, pushing it up until it was parallel to her chest. The warmth of his thigh settled behind hers as he leaned his weight on the edge, forcing her to remain so vulnerably laid open.
“Hands,” he ordered, his voice husky and low, as rough as his touch when he took her wrists and pinned them together in one hand behind her back. The fingers of his other hand slid down between the folds of labia, parting them.
There was no need for any extra lubrication; she was already wet for him. And whether or not he would have paused to ease his entry into her was highly unlikely. The blankets swallowed her cries as, with a single hard thrust, he shoved himself deep inside her.
He held onto her as though she fought against him, wrenching her arms back up between her shoulder blades until she cried out. It ached where her wrists pressed together in his grip. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, hurting as he yanked her back upon him, thrusting and pounding furiously against her wealed buttocks. A spanking would have been easier to bear. Yet her body sang, and her cries held more ecstasy than agony.
His vigor and his force felt good. She loved his guttural roar of pleasure as he came, his hips jerking as jettisons of creamy-white seed splashed up against her womb. Even his weight felt good when he fell down on top of her, crushing her into the soft mattress, his forehead sweating against her shoulder, his hot breath panting behind her ear. The only thing she didn’t like was the feel of him slipping out of her when he rolled over, flopping onto his back beside her.
“I’m not going to call you out of the closet each time I want to fuck,” he growled. “You’ll sleep out here tonight.”
Her scalp ached where he’d pulled her hair. Her arms and her bottom burned, her womb felt positively battered, and her heart sang.
She rolled sideways to face him, admiring his strength, thrilling within because he could have had anyone and yet it was her body that he took for his enjoyment. That she hadn’t found her own completion didn’t matter at all. She had pleased him. He really did need her.
“Thank you,” she said.
Shipe sat up and looked at her incredulously. “Christ, woman, would you stop with the thank you’s!” Pulling the pillows out from under her hips, he threw them against the headboard. “Get your ass up there!” He landed a stinging swat to her bottom as she scrambled to get all the way onto his bed. “Christ,” he said again, and lay down, turning his back to her. “Shut up and go to sleep already, or I’ll gag you with your own goddamn hair.”
She cuddled up as close as she could get without touching him. Smiling happily, she closed her eyes.
Chapter Seven
Mercy awoke to a sharp pain in her wrists. She reared her head with a start, just as Shipe finished tightening the knot that bound her hands to the bars of the headboard. She drew a sharp breath, at first confused and not at all sure where she was. It all came back to her when he pulled his pillow out from under her head.
“Get your ass up,” he said.
In the semi-darkened room, the only light being the glowing embers in the fireplace, Mercy gripped the bars she was tied to with both hands. She twisted her head from side to side, searching the bed for signs of an implement. Then, slowly, wincing as her bottom protested having to move, she crawled up onto her knees. “M-Master Shipe?”
His arm encircled her hips and she gave a sharp cry as he lifted her completely off her knees. He stuffed both pillows under her hips and dropped her back down with her bottom well propped up in the air. Heading for the massive trunk at the foot of the bed, he returned a moment later with a ball gag, which he forced between her teeth. “When I want you to talk, I’ll ask you a question.”
He tied it tightly at the back of her head, then he bound her long hair into a pony tail at her nape so that he could see her face. Her ankles he fastened to opposite posts of the footboard, pulling her legs very wide apart.
Mercy twisted her head back, giving him a very uncertain look. She had never been tied like this before, with her bottom so raised as though offered for punishment. She again searched nervously for a waiting cane or strap or paddle, but there was nothing...yet. She drew a shaky breath as she raised her eyes to watch his powerful body moving through the shadows, and he went back to the foot of the bed.
“It obviously hasn’t occurred to you yet,” he said as he delved back into the open trunk, “it may not be thanks that I want to hear falling from your beautiful mouth.”
She had a beautiful mouth? Mercy felt both a trill of pleasure that he would so compliment her and a shock of apprehension for what he intended. She blinked, her eyebrows coming together as he took out a piece of plastic and a small clay jar, which he brought back to set on the night-side table. The piece of plastic became a condom, which he unwrapped as he sat down beside her. He stretched it over the top of his cock and unrolled the length down his thick shaft, already fully erect, bathed orange in the dying of the fire’s light, and pulsing to be buried inside her. She heard the soft ‘tink’ of pottery as he removed the jar’s lid and dipped two fingers into the pale lotion within. There was a faint medicinal smell, and she couldn’t help but clench her bottom cheeks as he reached back between her legs and thoroughly moistened the rim of her anal entrance.
The gag muffled her whimper as he pushed his fingers past her reluctant anus. She closed her eyes, bowing her head onto her arms as he stroked the lubricant as deep into her bottom as he could reach. Anal sex was not unfamiliar to her. And to be honest, she didn’t remember it unfondly, at least not when her husband had cared to enter her gently. But it had been a while. A very long while, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it would hurt as much now as it had the very first time.
Once, twice, he slowly pumped his fingers in and out, then withdrew them to re-coat her anus with a fresh layer of the medicinal ointment. It wasn’t until he again invaded the dusky rim of her bottom that she began to feel an odd warmth. He’d spread it on her labia, up and down the crack of her buttocks, and everywhere that he’d touched her, her skin was heating.
Mercy mewed her distress, the heat becoming painful as her bottom burned both inside and out. She grabbed tightly to the bars of the headboard, grunting into her gag, her fingernails scraping the wood. But tied as securely as she was, that was all the struggling that she could manage, and the mattress shifted under his weight as Shipe settled between her splayed thighs.
“No,” he growled, biting and sucking at the lobe of her ear. “It’s not your thanks I want.”
She gave him her suffering instead, screaming and crying into the mattress between her outstretched arms as he entered her with brutality and claimed her body with furious savagery. The friction as he pumped inside her increased the heat, scalding her from the inside out with a fiery agony that lasted for a long time even after he’d exhausted himself.
Mercy was still groaning a good hour later, when Shipe finally roused himself to take the gag from her mouth.
“Well,” he said. “What have you got to say now?”
Weary, Mercy licked her dry lips and hoarsely whispered, “Thank you.”
He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “You’re saying that just to piss me off. You think I’m hurting you now? This is pure gentleness compared to what I could be doing.”
Her eyes burning from crying, sticky with sweat, her body aching as though he’d already fulfilled that promise, she whispered, “It’s better than being ignored.”
Shipe stared at her for a long moment in silence. Then he stuffed the gag back into her mouth and left her tied to his bed the rest of the night.
* * * *
Mercy was still tied hand and foot to the corner posts when she awoke the next morning. Although Master Shipe had spent most of the night sleeping beside her, one leg thrown over the top of hers, his arm around her waist with a hand possessively cupping her mons, he wasn’t touc
hing her now. The mattress gave a slight shake and Mercy lifted her head, glancing back over her other shoulder to find him perched along the edge of the bed, hunched over as though struggling to pull on his boot—although it was unlikely since he wasn’t yet wearing his pants.
He sat, clapping his hands to his thighs with a stifled sigh, and looked down at his lap. Drawing a resigned breath, he stood up evenly on two legs. The muscles of his back and buttocks bunched as he took a single step, and Mercy cried out in shock as she sat up. Or would have had she not been so tightly tied down.
Shipe turned around to look at her; she peered through the dark at his false leg. “It’s not a goddamn miracle. It’s a prosthetic.”
For once, he didn’t sound angry when he spoke to her. Perhaps that made her bolder than she should have been, because the second he took off her gag, the first thing she said was, “You don’t like to wear it?”
Shipe glared at her, then moved down the bed to untie her ankle. “No, I don’t like to wear it.”
“Why not?”
He stopped working on the knot and braced his hands on the mattress, a gesture that was rife with aggravation. He glared at her even harder, his look turning familiarly cross.
“If it pinches,” she hastily continued, “I could sew a pad inside it to make it more comfortable.” With wide and hopeful eyes, she bit her bottom lip and waited for him to answer.
“What did I tell you last night?” he growled.
“Less talking, more screaming?” she hesitantly paraphrased, her uncertainty making it sound more like a question.
His dark eyes glittered. It might have been amusement; it might just as well have been annoyance. It was hard to tell with Shipe and the darkness of the room wasn’t helping. “Then what should you be doing right now?”
She raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Screaming?”
The smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth was the most reluctant that she had ever seen. His was an almost cross amusement as he growled, and she shrieked with laughter as he climbed on the bed after her and flattened her bottom with a not-so-gentle swat.
