by Kitty Thomas
Tender Mercies
Kitty Thomas
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 Kitty Thomas
all rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Publisher's Note:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contact [email protected]
For M, who “gets me”.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the following people for their help and contributions in the making of Tender Mercies:
Beta Readers: Michelle, Annabel, Emma Petersen, Fallon, Claudia, Cara, & M.
Copyediting: Natasha
Cover art: Robin
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction, and the author does not endorse or condone any behavior done to another human being without their consent. This work contains subject matter which is not appropriate for minors including depictions of abuse, slavery, dubious consent, and anal play.
Prologue
“Darcy.”
She turned at the sound of Asher’s voice and smirked, wiggling her ass at him.
He sucked in a breath at the sight of her. Her long, elegant limbs, the supple leather collar, the black heels. The slutty kitty outfit he’d dressed her in, complete with a tail he’d inserted an hour before his friend had arrived. Though he wasn’t sure outfit was the proper term, as what she was wearing was little more than black satin ribbons that crisscrossed her body, leaving exposed everything one would wish to see. Her dark mahogany hair fell forward over her eyes, giving her a look of demure submission that was so beyond the truth of his playful Darcy, it was laughable.
“Be a good kitten, and crawl over to James.”
She made her way across the floor toward their guest, the bell he’d added to her collar jingling the entire way. As Asher watched from across the room, he could see the evidence of her arousal, her skin glistening with the telltale signs of her growing excitement. She loved it when James came over. Such a little exhibitionist.
James sat perfectly still, Asher’s bullwhip draped across his lap. His eyes dilated, and his lips parted in a grin.
“Sir,” Darcy said, bowing her head.
“You go far too easy on her, you know.”
Asher shrugged. “I’m sure you intend to remedy that problem in a few moments.”
It was true, he was a bit tame with her, but she knew she was his. He had the paperwork to prove it; he owned her and could do whatever he pleased. His kindness wasn’t motivated by lack of right. And yet he’d been far more lenient than was probably advisable.
She’d charmed her way into his heart, and because her masochism surpassed his sadism, it was difficult to truly punish her. He’d gone so soft on her that he sometimes sang her to sleep when she asked. He couldn’t bring himself to deny her anything, and now she was so spoiled that drastic measures had to be taken to correct the situation.
“James is going to punish you with the bullwhip,” he said, the amusement gone from his voice. “You pushed the boundaries too far this time. For god’s sake. We were in public. Smarting off to me like that? It wasn’t your wisest move.”
She went quiet, her delicate body still, her eyes on the floor. Her anxiety seemed to hum like a thousand buzzing bees. There was a faint tremor. She was genuinely afraid. Yes, the weight of the situation had finally landed on her. Tonight wasn’t about play.
He considered calling it off, his stomach going queasy over the possibility of truly hurting her.
James caught the change in his posture. “Relax. I know what I’m doing.”
“How much training have you had with that thing?” he asked, his eyes not straying from the huddled form at James’s feet. Asher had practiced and practiced, but he’d never been able to bring himself to start practicing on a woman. James had.
“Enough.”
“How many live human beings have you practiced on?” He looked up at his friend, still unsure of the course he’d chosen, but determined he wouldn’t be the one led around on a chain.
“Five. I know what I’m doing.”
“Very well.”
“Master?” Darcy said.
“Yes, kitten?”
“Will you stay with me?”
He nodded, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. “After tonight I expect your behavior to change. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Master.”
Asher watched grimly as James rose to his feet. The trembling in his slave had reached its zenith, and he wondered if she was milking it, trying to play on his feelings for her.
“Are you backing out?” James asked.
She looked up, the hope naked in her eyes, as if she might beg him. And if she did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to ignore her entreaty. But she remained silent, and her eyes went back down as she seemed to try to control the shaking. No, she wasn’t faking it.
That knowledge made him want to stop the punishment before it began, but where would they go from here? If he showed weakness when she obviously now needed a firm hand, would either of them be satisfied again?
It had to happen.
James stood and pulled Darcy to her feet, leading her to the wall against which the St. Andrew’s Cross stood. He secured her wrists and ankles to the frame so she was spread-eagled. Asher came up behind her and pulled her long hair out of the way, leaving her back exposed. She shivered.
“Do it,” he said, stepping back to give James room to work.
The first snap of the whip landed perfectly across her back, eliciting a shriek unlike anything he’d heard from her before. Then the tears started coming, possibly the first real ones she’d cried in his care. His cock twitched as she pulled against the restraints, her fear and pain intoxicating. He’d forgotten this need to possess completely, for a woman to be this helpless and dependent on his kindness. The dynamic with Darcy had just never been that way. Not until now.
A few more lashes had her begging and blubbering. “Please, Master, make it stop. Please. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve learned your lesson?”
She nodded vigorously.
He looked to James who shrugged, seemingly unconvinced that this would make much difference in the grand scheme of Darcy’s misbehavior.
“One more,” Asher decided aloud.
The next strike drew blood and a scream so loud it nearly busted his eardrums.
“Well, that one did it,” James said.
“Indeed.”
They worked together to untie her, and she collapsed in Asher’s arms.
“Go to your room, and don’t come out. I’ll come up for you in a few hours.”
“But Master, I . . . it hurts.”
“I’ve coddled you far too long. Punishment is supposed to hurt. Things are changing between us. Go.” He pointed to the staircase. Her face fell, and she winced as she hobbled across the floor and up the stairs, gripping the rail that ran along the stone wall as if for her life.
For a moment, he considered helping her, but he stayed where he was, watching her, wondering if she was exaggerating her pain now for his sympathy. Once she’d gone, he and James retired to the study for dr
inks.
It was late into the night when he found her sprawled on the floor in her room, asleep. So like Darcy to be a drama queen. He picked her up and moved her across the hall. She groaned in pain as he settled her under the covers with him. The groan ended his suspicions that she was just being dramatic. Maybe he shouldn’t have let James go so hard on her.
He turned on the bedside lamp to inspect her back. Something looked wrong. Felt wrong. He shook her. “Darcy, look at me.”
She opened her eyes with some struggle, her gaze glassy and unfocused, and the sickening thought came over him that she might not have just gone to sleep. She may have passed out from the pain. Alarm grew as he sifted through all the schooling he’d stopped using when he’d decided to ditch pre-med for business. Internal bleeding.
Possible scenarios presented themselves. Cracked rib? Punctured organ? She was so sluggish. Had she tried to come back downstairs to him? How had she even made it to her room? Had she tried to call out, and he hadn’t heard her?
Her eyes drifted shut, and he shook her again. “Darcy!”
“Master . . . I’m hurt.” Her hair cascaded over her back as she struggled to turn toward him, life slipping out of her more quickly now. There were a million things he wanted to say to her, a million apologies and whispered endearments. What the hell have I done?
“William!” he shouted, “call for an ambulance!” The servant raced into the room, already punching numbers on the phone. It was futile. Help wouldn’t arrive in time; he knew enough to know that. It was far too late for gallant rescue.
He couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t close his eyes to her pain and the gravity of the life he’d just, in effect, taken. The life of the woman he loved.
“Master?” she whispered.
He cradled her in his arms, his thumb stroking over her cheek. His look of regret told her everything she needed to know. “Yes, baby?”
“Sing me to sleep?”
It was the last time he ever sang.
One
Grace Warner logged on to her instant messenger. Lucas wouldn’t be on for another fifteen minutes, but he hated when she was late. Am I really going to do this?
From the time she’d learned of Eleu, she’d become obsessed with it. A real place where it was legal to belong to someone. The independently-governed island was kept secret, even among the kinky set. But she’d discovered it. She felt like Columbus.
How could this place exist? How could she never have known about it? At first, she’d thought her friend Lainey was just fucking with her. She’d laughed it off so as not to give away any clues of her naïveté. Privately, she dug until she found the confirmation she needed. And now she’d met a man online who actually lived there and wanted her to come to him.
Pictures had been exchanged. Naughty webcam sessions had taken place. And now he wanted her to make the choice to hand him her freedom. And the fucked-up part? She wanted to. He was rich. He was gorgeous. And he had a voice that reached inside and flipped some switch that made her want to kneel at his feet.
She wasn’t uninformed about the laws of Eleu. She knew the risks. She couldn’t appeal based on her rights as a citizen of any other country, because former citizenship was renounced at the gate. There wasn’t even a single embassy. Tourism wasn’t permitted.
No one would come rescue her, so she had to be sure. The only law pertaining to the safety of slaves in Eleu was that you couldn’t kill them. If her master broke that law, that was it. Game over. Whether he was imprisoned for the offense or not, her life would still be forfeit.
She wiggled her toes––nails still wet from a fresh coat of petal pink––and looked at the clock again. Ten more minutes.
Her cell rang, and she jumped. Lucas rarely called on the phone, preferring the visual stimulation of webcam. He’d said they’d talk in instant messenger tonight; he had some work to do. She’d been disappointed but hadn’t made waves about it, afraid he was getting bored with her. Tired of waiting and all her caution.
The number that lit across the screen was Lainey’s.
“Hello,” she said, bracing herself for more of her friend’s attempts at deprogramming.
Lainey sighed over the phone.
“You just called to breathe at me?” Grace said, her eyes trained on the clock. Eight minutes.
“What do you know about this guy?” It was the question that had been asked and answered at least a hundred different times and ways, but no answer satisfied her.
“Lucas Stone. Owns an Internet company. The main focus is his social networking site. He’s 38. Non-smoker. Pisces. He’s got a dog, Australian shepherd. His sister is a flight attendant living in Greece. He’s a Buddhist––”
Lainey interrupted the Lucas Stone resume. “No. What do you really know about this guy?”
“I know we’ve been talking online for a year, I can’t find any criminal dirt on him, and he’s getting bored waiting. I think if I don’t go to him, he’ll find someone else.”
“So?”
Grace sighed. “You just don’t understand.”
Lainey was kinky, no doubt. But she didn’t have the kind of needs Grace did. She was more about kink in the bedroom and nothing more. Her mention of Eleu had been in more of an offended feminist can-you-believe-those-psychos way than real interest. She hadn’t counted on the idea lighting something inside of Grace and not fading.
“It’s too dangerous. I don’t care how long you’ve been talking or how kinky you are. You can live in a consensual 24/7 relationship here, where you’ll have legal recourse if the bastard tries to really hurt you.”
“Just like battered wives and abused girlfriends do? If you’re with a dangerous man, laws won’t protect your rights. You know that, and I know that. You either end up with a useless restraining order and a psycho that kills you anyway, or the battered wives’ version of Stockholm Syndrome.”
“Grace . . .”
“Safewords don’t make you safe. If you’re with the wrong guy playing kinky, you’re fucked anyway. I’ve taken every precaution I know to take. I’ve checked out everything there is on this guy. He’s squeaky clean.”
“Maybe too clean,” Lainey said, as if a man were evil by virtue of not having a criminal record.
Five minutes.
“I have to go. He’s logging on in a few.”
Lainey seemed as if she were going to argue, but instead disconnected the call without even a goodbye. Lainey was the only one who would fight her on this. Grace’s parents had died in a car crash, and her brother was too coked out of his mind half the time to understand what was going on in his immediate reality, let alone a thousand miles away at her house.
Another minute passed and she saw Lucas’s Internet handle, Stoneman, flash across her screen.
Stoneman: Hey, pet. Been waiting long?
Gracie343: Only about fifteen minutes.
Stoneman: *chuckles* If only you were as eager to hop on a plane as you are to message me.
Gracie343: You know why I have to be careful.
Stoneman: I know. And you aren’t wrong. A woman disappeared here. Several of us think her master killed her, but they haven’t found a body.
Grace’s hand trembled a little as she stared at the words on the screen. Perhaps Lainey was right. Maybe she should find some nice master at a club somewhere who would follow the laws of safe, sane, and consensual or be ostracized from the ranks. She shook off the paranoia. If Lucas was bad, he wouldn’t be telling her about some girl that may have been murdered. It would hardly get him closer to getting her on a plane. She changed the subject.
Gracie343: You really haven’t taken a slave during the time you’ve been talking to me?
Stoneman: Nope.
Gracie343: Why not?
Five minutes passed before the little bar on the screen lit up and dinged at her.
Stoneman: Sorry. Had to let the dog out.
Grace waited another endless minute while the text at the bottom of the
chat box said: Stoneman typing . . .
Stoneman: It’s a long process. There are occasionally sales on the island, but most men who want one do what I’m doing, find someone on the outside willing to be brought in. I know it’s a big risk. I don’t think I’d want a slave that agreed too quickly. It wouldn’t mean as much.
Gracie343: Okay.
So maybe he hadn’t found someone else. Or maybe he had. He could have a harem full of slaves and she wouldn’t know until she got there. Would sharing bother her? She wasn’t sure it mattered if she was willing to do this for real. And it wasn’t as if she was leaving much behind. A single family member. A single friend, unless you counted co-workers, which Grace didn’t. As for her career, the exciting world of retail wasn’t exactly setting her world aflame. Even if it was a high-end boutique with a twenty percent employee discount. Whoop-de-do.
Stoneman: I really need to get some work done. Going to have to close out the messenger.
Gracie343: Are you mad at me?
Stoneman: No, pet. But I’m not waiting forever. This long-distance domination isn’t cutting it for either of us. I want you in my bed. I’ll give you another month. But if you aren’t on a plane . . .
Gracie343: I know.
Stoneman: Are you going to be on that plane, Grace?
She stared at the chat box for a good three minutes. Then he logged out, perhaps tired of waiting on her answer. Maybe pissed. She didn’t know. She waited another thirty minutes like a pathetic puppy to see if he’d come back. Finally, convinced he was gone for the night, she signed out of the chat client.
