4 comments/ 17617 views/ 3 favorites The One Called Mercy Ch. 01 By: RedHairedandFriendly Author's Note: On the 1st of January 2013 a story I submitted to Lit. was approved. The title was "Mercy" and it was set in a world similar to Europe in the 1800s. It is by no means historical fiction, so don't look for references that point out any major royal family member or recognizable landscapes – you may or may not find them. As I wrote that short bit of erotica I began to fall in love with the character and promised myself that I would come back to her and I would write her past, and share with the readers what circumstances formed my dear submissive, but very strong and confidant Mercy. This is her story and I hope you enjoy it as much as I. ~ Red 1828 The stench of his breath forced her stomach to twist as he grabbed her chin and pulled her face closer to his. Mercy's gaze shot back and forth between the leering look of the farmer and her father's soulless gaze. The swollen lip and black eye she sported were signs that her father would no longer listen to her pleas and cries for aid. He had sold her to Henry Tatewater for land that bordered the Lewis farm and there was no turning back, even though she had been born free and had developed a mind of her own – she was a woman and that meant she was worth less than the land they stood upon. "Get yourself in the carriage girl," Tatewater said before dropping his hand from her chin and stepping back. "We'll discuss your role in my life as we travel back to my home." Mercy's lower lip trembled as a tear rolled down her dirty cheek. She had been working in the barn when she heard her father yelling for her. Not a moment was wasted as she made her way to his side and hurried to greet their guest. Henry Tatewater had stood there staring at her as if he would devour her without thought or care. And when her father explained that she was to go with the farmer and do his bidding, she knew her world would never be the same. Without thought to the consequences she turned away, hoping to run as fast and as far as her long legs would take her. The flight was cut short when her father pulled her back, turned her around and smashed her face with his fist. She cursed his name and another punch was delivered, breaking her lip. Tatewater had done nothing to stop the assault. Once more she looked at her father and searched his face, hoping for a sign of parental love that would prove that she was simply having a bad dream. Surely her eighteenth birthday was not being celebrated by an introduction into slavery. "Go on!" Henry shouted and pushed her toward the carriage. Mercy stumbled forward and walked the short distance that separated her from her father and Tatewater's vehicle. Her chest was tight and her palms were cold and clammy. She looked back and said a silent prayer, before turning away and racing toward the woods. "You fuckin' whore! I'll beat you till you're dead!" her father shouted. She looked back and screamed as he started to run toward her. "Stop!" Henry shouted, while grabbing the old man. He turned toward his carriage and shouted out a name, "Matthews!" Mercy ran harder, while spinning her head to look toward the carriage. A tall, thin black man jumped down from the vehicle and sprinted after her. It did not take him long to catch her. She was lifted up and tossed over his shoulder. Mercy screamed and pummeled his back with her fists, but no damage did she inflict. He was much stronger than he looked and when they reached the carriage, Henry Tatewater was there with the door open. Matthews threw her inside and she landed squarely on the hard wooden floor. She moved to crawl onto the bench, but was told to "stay put". She looked at Henry and knew the demand had come from him and that the look on his face told her that his word was law. He ordered Matthews back to his post and then gave Mercy's father a gentlemanly nod, before climbing in and taking a seat on the cushioned bench of his carriage. The horses pulled away, taking Mercy away from the only parent she had and the only home she'd ever known. She sat on the floor, tucking her feet up under her, while staring at the ground that peeked through the slatted wood. "Mercy, look up at me." Mercy lifted her head and stared silently toward Tatewater. He looked like the same man she had seen coming and going from her father's lands for the past eighteen years, but there was a different air about him now that he possessed her. He was no longer a neighbor, or one of her father's friends, he was her enemy. "I know you hate me," he said as she continued to stare at him. "But in time you'll see that living with me is not such a harsh life. My home is spacious, warm, and my larders full. You are young and with youth comes strength. As you know I have four children and they are in need of mothering and though I am not a young man, I am not a dead man." He saw her lift a brow and he chuckled. "Oh but you would like that wouldn't you? Me dead and you free. But before you begin planning my demise, let me explain your place in my world." He cleared his throat, reached down and touched her cheek. Mercy pulled away, but he moved to grasp her chin. He held her firmly in place while he bent down and spoke softly to her. "You are nothing. You are a piece of finery that becomes just another trinket for my offspring to inherit. Now since my eldest is not yet of legal age that means a member of my family would be in charge of distributing my wealth and property. That relative is my father, a man that taught me everything I know and a man who has outlived six wives. Why do you think that is?" Mercy swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and thought back over the rumors of Tatewater's father. His last wife had been killed while traveling to her mother's home. It was said that her horse stumbled, tossing her from its back and she fell to her death. A few years prior to her death, his other wife had died when she fell from the loft of their stables. "I see the wheels are turning," Henry was saying. "Now, my father is currently married to a woman, who is twice your age. You are young, untrained and easy on the eyes. Do you think he would hesitate to dispose of wife number seven so he can take you as wife number eight?" "And your wife – did you dispose of her?" Henry smirked. "No, I did not, though my father believes I did. Jane passed away from childbirth. The babe lived and will be one of the four whelps you will be in charge of." "I know nothing of children," she admitted, "and even less about being a wife." "A wife?" Henry laughed. He reached down and cupped her right breast. She slapped his hand away. He laughed again, then slapped her face. "I don't want nor need a wife. I need a slut and a nanny." Mercy turned away and buried her face in her shoulder. He toyed with her hair and twisted several locks around his fingers. "A willing slut is what I desire, but I have no qualms forcing you to service me." He pulled her up to her knees, using her hair as a rope. Mercy grabbed his wrist and tried to free herself. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head. "No, my little whore. You don't want to fight me." He reached between his legs and opened his trousers. His cock, hard from the promising warmth of her young mouth, jerked toward her. "Open your mouth Mercy," he said as he brought her face closer to his groin. "Do not bite me girl, but take me in, just the head, then suck as if you were drawing out the succulent juices of a ripe peach." She stared at the swollen appendage. Its bulbous head with a dark center eye stared back at her. Mercy felt her stomach knot and roll in disgust. Her gaze shifted from his cock to Henry's eyes. Again her lips trembled and tears fell. She shook her head no, then cried out when he pulled her hair and forced her head back. He lowered his face to hers and spit at her when he spoke. "This act is nothing compared to what I will make you do. Take my cock, girl, suck it and when I spill my seed down your pretty little throat, you will accept every drop. Is that understood?" Mercy nodded her head and felt his hold on her relax. "Good," he whispered, then pushed her back toward his throbbing shaft. "I know your mother died when you were but a babe, so your ignorance is both a curse and a blessing. I will instruct you, but only once, be sure to listen closely. After you suck on the head, open your mouth further and begin to coax the shaft down your throat. It will take practice, but when it comes to a nice, deep, throat fuck, I am a patient man," he whispered, then chuckled at the lie that spilled easily from his lips. She opened her mouth, closed her eyes and took in the head of her owner's sex. The spongy tip was softer than she had imagined it. Her scalp hurt from Henry's pulling, but the more she sucked the softer his hold became. She turned her head to the side and opened her eyes just enough so she could make out his expression. Mercy was surprised by the relaxed look on his face. Gone were the angry and hostile lines that had greeted her the minute she balked at the selling of her soul. Instead his looks had softened. His eyes were closed and his lips were soft. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she continued to suck on his cock. She recalled his demand that she slowly take more of him in and began to act on his order. As she took another inch of his member into the warmth of her mouth, his expression changed again as did the grip on her hair. He began to pet her and his lips parted, words slipped free and none of them were harsh or cruel. In fact the more she sucked and the deeper she drew him in the kinder the words became. "Yes, my sweet sweet girl." "Perfect." "Deeper." "Slower." "Right there." "Oh fuck yes." Mercy felt a sense of control sweep over her. She popped off his dick and stared shockingly at his wet rod. "What is it?" Henry asked, clearing his throat and questioning her reasons for abandoning her chore. "What is this that I'm doing?" He laughed, reached down and stroked her cheek, then traced her lips with the pad of his thumb. "It is called sucking my cock and you are a natural. If I didn't know better I would say you were experienced, but your father has guaranteed you are innocent and for what I paid him, he would dare not lie to me." "I am pure," Mercy admitted. "Tell me Mercy, did you like what you were doing? Sucking my cock?" Mercy stared at his member and thought about how it felt in her mouth. She realized it was not the act of sucking his cock that she had liked, but it was how he seemed to forget she was there. He no longer pulled her hair, nor had he threatened her when she stopped sucking him. Her gaze went back to meet his and she lowered her eyes. "I did." Instantly she felt his hand on her chin and the harsh touch he'd used on her was gone. "A fine gem you will be," he said before coaxing her back to his slick member. She opened her mouth and drew him in. "Yes, a fine gem indeed." As she began to move his dick further into her mouth, she thought to herself about how to use her body to control her fate. It was apparent that Henry Tatewater was going to use her however he deemed fit, and he had already proved that if she cooperated and willingly gave him what he wanted his touch would be light. "Deeper," he said, interrupting her thoughts. She took a deep breath and gagged while trying to shove his member down her throat. Instinct had her pulling away. "Breathe through your nose," he hissed and pushed her back down. He held her there, forcing her to gag around his rod. "Take it," he ordered as she clawed at his thighs and tried to free herself. He wrapped her hair around his fingers and lifted her up, then slammed her back down on his shaft. "Breathe through your nose!" he demanded before repeating the process of fucking her throat. The pain was back. Her head hurt. Her temples pounded. Her throat was sore and fear rolled through her, but she did as he ordered and began to breathe through her nose as he used her. A warm hot fluid filled her mouth and she knew it was the seed that he had spoken of earlier. She balked at the taste and the knowledge of his juice coating her tongue and filling her throat. The threat of his hand against her cheek, or his fist against her face made her swallow the gushing milk. She tasted the salt and wanted to vomit, but he controlled her and held her to the base of his crotch. Tears fell from her eyes as his seed continued to be drawn out of his tight balls. When he was done, Mercy felt him relax. She was pushed off his sex and told to wipe her mouth. With a trembling hand, she wiped off the excess fluids that coated the sides of her lips. "Now clean your hand," he said, through panted breaths. Mercy looked for something to wipe away the sticky fluids. "With your tongue girl." Her lips curled in disgust and Henry Tatewater laughed. "Waste not a drop. It is precious – my seed." She licked her lips, tasted him again and swallowed the bile that threatened to free itself from her stomach. Quickly she licked her hand and washed herself like a pet cleansing its fur. Henry repaired his state of dress and said nothing more to Mercy. She sat on the floor and prayed that soon she would be given something to cleanse the taste of his fluids from her mouth. They reached his home and Henry helped her from the carriage. "You will share my room," he said as Matthews hurried ahead of them. He opened the door, stepped back and waited until both Henry and Mercy were inside. Once they had crossed the threshold, he closed the doors and returned to tend to the carriage and the horses. Inside Henry's home Mercy immediately was assaulted by four children, though in truth, the fourth was an infant cradled in a young boy's arms. "So is this our new mother?" the boy with the babe asked. "No. I explained she would be a nanny, not your mother." The boy walked over and thrust the baby into Mercy's arms. She quickly took it, fearing that if she did not, the boy would have willingly dropped the infant on the cold hard floor. The three children, turned and ran upstairs, while the babe stared up at the strange woman. "This is Sara," Henry said. "She's been nursing from Matthews' wife's tit. She'll be along shortly and the other three, those are my sons. Daniel, the one that gave you the babe. Micheal, the redheaded boy, and Jack the smaller of the three." Henry looked up and angled his head. "Ah, perfect timing. Ruth, this is Mercy." Before Mercy could say anything she was greeted by a dark woman with short hair and large breasts. Stains of dried milk covered her bodice. "There's the wee one," the woman said and reached for baby Sara. "I'll take her. It's time for her feeding." Mercy willingly gave up the infant and watched as the black woman walked away. She then turned to look questionably at Henry. He looked down at her and allowed his gaze to roam across her bosom. "Perhaps another lesson before supper," he whispered, before grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the stairs. The first few weeks of Mercy's instructional period were made up mostly of beatings that were delivered by a firm hand. That first day when Henry dragged her up the stairs and threw her into his room, she had immediately searched for a weapon to protect herself. Fear of the unknown drove her to seek out something to destroy her Master with. He was prepared and had her bound with a leather cord before she could grasp the candle stick that rested on a bedside table. After her first night, he explained that her sexual needs could be met, if she desired it. She cursed him and another lesson commenced, one that had her suspended naked from a chain that hung from a rafter in his stable. A whip was laid upon her skin and the punishment did not cease until she was begging him for forgiveness. When Henry gave the signal that he was finished, Matthews stepped out of the shadows, lowered her and carried her past Henry's oldest son. She hid her face in his shoulder, wincing whenever his fingers brushed against her red-streaked flesh. He placed her on the Master's bed and called for his wife, who began to sooth her sore muscles and broken skin. Henry took her that night and praised her for not fighting him. He covered her backside with his seed, and spread it over her flesh marking every inch of her. When he was done, she was left alone and slept fitfully. When morning arrived she relieved him of his morning erection, swallowing his cum while willing herself not to throw up. The second beating came when she ran from his chambers after he flipped her over and tried to penetrate her ass. He did not force his cock into her tight hole, but instead had her tied face down onto his bed. She begged him not to punish her and promised to please him in all ways. He laughed, told her he was proud of her and then he gave her ass to Matthews. The black man's cock was much larger than Henry's and when he pushed his way into the virgin channel Henry was there encouraging his slut to welcome every rock hard inch. Matthews did not come but when he was ordered from the room Mercy's ass was stretched and she welcomed the smaller dick of her Master. The harshest beating was delivered when Mercy refused to suckle milk from Ruth's tits and lick her pussy until she came. Henry had used the black woman, then used Mercy and then he had told both women to fuck and lick each other. Ruth moved to do Henry's bidding, while Mercy stared back in shock and horror. When the black woman reached out to stroke Mercy's breasts, the young woman screamed and scooted back. Henry rose from the chair he'd been occupying and slapped the white woman. Mercy scrambled from the bed and again tried to flee from her Master's bedchamber. She was brought back and punished until once more she was agreeing to do his bidding. She brought Ruth to climax four times before Henry shoved his dick into Mercy's pussy and fucked her, ordering Ruth from the room. The following morning Ruth came to Mercy and shared with her how easier life would be, if she simply obeyed the Master and welcomed every thrust of his cock, whether it was delivered to her throat, her pussy, or her ass. "Embrace him. Learn from him and eventually you will become someone he cares for and perhaps marries." "I don't wish to become his wife!" Ruth reached out and held Mercy's hand. "A wife holds more power than a slave." Mercy stared silently back at the black woman and recalled the power she had felt that first time in the carriage and his cock was settled in her mouth. She then recalled the story Henry had told her concerning his father. "A wife has no power," Mercy whispered. "Nor does a slave – but a servant, a willing and obedient servant who aches to please her Master – she holds power and the Master is so full of himself that he doesn't realize how much she controls him." Ruth eyed her suspiciously. "Whatever you are thinking Miss Mercy, let it go. Just serve Master Tatewater and enjoy the passion he can bring to you. In the end you may discover that you crave what he provides." Mercy lifted a brow in disbelief. "Before he looses control, do you not become aroused by the pain he inflicts?" "Nothing about Henry Tatewater arouses me," Mercy answered. Ruth laughed. "You lie to yourself because you fear the answer. I have witnessed the desire in your eyes and the way your body quivers when he shouts for you to come to him. Yet, you push and push, forcing him to punish you until you are begging for relief from his abuse. Why else would you do this, unless you desire it?" Mercy rolled her eyes and rose from where she'd been sitting. "I fight him because what he is doing is wrong! I am not property! I am a free woman!" The One Called Mercy Ch. 02 1831 The party that Henry Tatewater had decided to throw to honor his father's memory was in fact nothing more than a way for Tatewater to make himself known to the more elite members of society. He had spared no expense in preparing for his self-appointed introduction, spending hundreds on wine and fine foods, as well as clothing for himself and for Mercy. The young woman looked stunning and as she sipped on a glass of wine, her presence was noted by all. One man in particular had been introduced to Tatewater as Captain James Blackhawk. He was a guest of Lord and Lady Whitmeyer and the Whitmeyer's were thrilled that Blackhawk had been able attend a lavish affair before taking his leave of their hospitality. As Blackhawk gazed at Mercy Lewis and watched her tongue dart out to taste the wine on her lips, he too found himself thankful that Tatewater had arrived and had brought with him a fine gem of a companion. He had been quick to discover that Mercy was not married, nor betrothed to Tatewater, and was in fact his Mistress. His gaze darted around the room, taking note of who was present and who was not. His time within the walls of Whitmeyer estate had paid off, thanks to mutual benefits of a partnership with the Lord and Lady. He had discovered the routes of various ships that would be departing over the next four months as well as their cargo. He had planned on purchasing a few whores for his trip and his men, but with the arrival of Mercy Lewis, that plan would be altered slightly. His desire for her had been instant and when he wanted something, he rarely hesitated in grasping it. James picked up a glass of wine, when a servant passed by him and drank deeply of the crimson fluid. He caught sight of Henry Tatewater and noticed that he seemed to be using a large black servant as a support beam. Blackhawk made his way toward the host of the party and picked up on the conversation that was flowing heavily around Tatewater. Even though Tatewater's words were slurred and excessively hard to comprehend, Blackhawk could tell that the man was itching to prove himself at the gaming tables. James couldn't blame him, not really, it was what most newcomers to society did. They had to preen their feathers to show their importance to the world around them. In James Blackhawk's mind, it was often their undoing. "Ah, here is Blackhawk," Henry said when he caught James approaching. "Yes, here I am and what are we discussing?" James asked, before giving a once over to the group of men who were conversing with Tatewater. He noticed Lord Everett Whitmeyer as well as Lord Gregory, Samuel Reuben, and Morgan Benedict. All four gentlemen were notorious gamblers and a game involving them would be one that would make Blackhawk work for what he wanted. He glanced toward Mercy who was in deep conversation with Lady Whitmeyer. He caught Evelyn Whitmeyer's eyes and smiled warmly. His friend smiled back before returning her attentions to Mercy. "Well, will you join us?" Everett Whitmeyer was saying, pulling James back to the conversation that he'd eavesdropped in on. "What are the stakes?" he asked. "I've plenty of money and am leaving in the morning, so loosing it doesn't sit well with me." The other men laughed. Lord Whitmeyer lifted his drink and finished its contents. "We're betting our beloved partners. One week of sexual bliss." James chuckled. "And all your ladies are in agreement?" James knew Evelyn Whitmeyer would be more than willing to do as her husband demanded, including servicing one of his friends. And he'd heard rumors that Lord Gregory's wife was just as submissive ad Evelyn. He did not know a lot about Samuel Reuben, or Morgan Benedict, except that neither was married and Benedict had a long-time mistress named Isabell. He had seen Isabell at a few of Whitmeyer's parties, but had not had an opportunity to enjoy her charms and Reuben was rumored to be between partners. "What lady has Sir Reuben brought with him this evening?" James asked, looking around at the crowd of laughing and dancing women. "See the blonde by the window, the one almost sitting on Cartwater's lap?" Samuel said, as he lifted his drink to his lips. He drew deeply from it, swallowed the cool beverage and grinned. "She is mine and she too will agree to whatever I desire." "But alas, I did not bring a lady," James said. "So I come to the table empty handed." "Evelyn will be your lady," Whitmeyer answered. "Two weeks then if I lose for poor Lady Whitmeyer?" James countered. "Are you sure you could survive that long without her?" "Well, I won't agree to two consecutive weeks," he laughed. "Then count me in," James said, then turned to Henry Tatewater, "I assume your lady, Ms. Mercy will concede to your wishes as well?" Henry laughed and clapped James on the back. "I'll not be loosing," he said, "but yes, my Mercy will do as she's told, or receive a beating and still be taken. She is a good slut, one that knows her place, though I have learned she purposely riles me so that the whip is laid upon her flesh with more bite." James' lips rose in a smirk and his cock stiffened slightly. "She craves the whip?" "Aye, very much. I have learned to read her. I know when she's purposely drawing my anger out and when she's accidentally gone to far." "Let us retire to another room then," James said and the other men agreed. As they left the room, they discussed further the rules of the game. They would play for coin until only two men remained, and then the ladies would be "placed in the pot". The loser would forfeit his companion or wife immediately and would retrieve her exactly one week later at the exact hour that the game was concluded. Whitmeyer vouched for Captain James Blackhawk and when the door closed on the small group, the fate of their ladies were held in their hands. The party had mellowed out shortly after the group of men left. Mercy had found herself occupied by a group of women who seemed to be with escorts. It wasn't until a servant came to her and the other women that they were told where their companions and husbands were. "Gaming, is one of man's greatest vices," Evelyn Whitmeyer said, before taking Mercy's hand and leading the group away from the stale smoke-filled air of the ballroom. They left the house, and walked along the garden, enjoying the fresh night air and the soft sound of nocturnal life. Eventually they made their way to a gazebo, that was illuminated by kerosene lamps. "Have you enjoyed your stay here with Tatewater?" Evelyn asked, once the women sat down on the smooth polished and painted benches that lined the gazebo. "I have," Mercy admitted. "It's a lovely home and he is a wonderful Master." The other women smiled and nodded their heads. "We thought that was your role here, but none of us were entirely sure," Samuel's companion Heather said, before reaching out to touch Mercy's hand. "Is he a kind Master?" "Yes, I believe he is. He is my first, unless one counts my father." "Your father? Did he train you?" Heather asked. Mercy's eyes grew wide and held a shocked expression. "Oh heaven's no. My father was a mean bastard, and he had a firm hand, but when he sold me to Master, I was a virgin." "Your father sold you?" Evelyn asked. "Yes, he did. A plot of land bordered on and he wanted it. Master's wife had passed, leaving him four children and no bed partner. I was a virgin and from what Master has told me, he desired me for a long time, but knew I was not of age. I was sold on my eighteenth birthday. I've been with my Master for three years." "And you embrace all he does?" another of the women asked. "I know nothing else. I was given great advice by one of Master's servants. She said to learn what I liked sexually, embrace it, welcome it and use it to my advantage. I have chosen to do that and I have learned what makes me shiver and tremble and," she smiled wide, "come." Evelyn chuckled softly. "You are still innocent. You speak so openly about your lifestyle and in this company, a company of strangers. You must guard yourself, not all women are as open about their lifestyle as we women are. We," she lifted her hand and waved to the ladies, "are all a part of a small group of nobles that often attend parties that others would call perverse and sinful. Tatewater's father was a member, and I'm sure after tonight he will be embraced by the gentlemen he is gambling with." "If it means an extended stay in the city, then I pray he is," Mercy admitted. "The children I spoke of, they do not care for me. But then again I am not a mother. I never had one, and I know nothing of children. I was a farmer's daughter and I am a man's playmate. I am not motherly." The group laughed and then stood when several bodies began to approach. At the lead were Lord Whitmeyer and James Blackhawk. Evelyn went to her husband, while the other ladies moved to their respective man's side. Mercy frowned when Tatewater did not appear to be with the group. The man she'd met as Captain James Blackhawk came forth and presented her with a slip of paper. "Ms. Mercy, Mister Tatewater asked me to give this to you." Mercy took the paper and glanced at the other women. She could not read their expressions, but she felt the concern mirrored in their eyes. She opened the parchment and read the words written by her Master's hand. Her gaze shot to Blackhawk's and then back to the paper, which she again read. "I see," she whispered, before folding the paper back and slipping it into the hidden pocket of her dress. "Am I allowed to take the gifts my Mas...that Mister Tatewater has given me?" "Just a few things. Jewels, a coat or two, perhaps a few gowns and underclothes, but for the most part your role will not change." "And this is permanent?" she asked, no longer looking to the women or men that stood at the edge of their conversation. "Yes," James said, "but you should know he fought hard for you. He put up his entire estate and risked everything before he gave up you. I gave him back all his wealth for the right to make you mine." "And you are like them?" she asked, nodding her head to the group of men and women. "You understand what my role has always been with Mas...," she cleared her throat, "Henry?" "I am and your role, as I said before will continue." Blackhawk turned to the group. "Lady Whitmeyer would you help my new pet gather her things. My crew and I will be leaving as scheduled and she will be accompanying me." "Your crew?" Mercy asked. The tone of her voice changed instantly. "What crew do you speak of?" James grinned. "I am a Captain, pet. We will travel the sea together. I assume you've never been off land?" "No, I have not," she admitted. "Your sea legs will eventually come, and when they do, we will explore one another." "My sea legs?" Evelyn stepped up and took Mercy's elbow. "The first week or two at sea will be hell, but afterward I am sure you'll adjust," she said, "come Mercy let us pack your things." Lady Whitmeyer then turned to James. "Is she allowed to say goodbye to Tatewater?" "I have no desire to," Mercy whispered as the realization that she had just been passed off to another man, a man more strange to her than Tatewater had been, hit her. She clutched her stomach and felt sick. Evelyn noticed the change and pulled her up against her. The two women left the group behind and made their way back toward the mansion. Once inside a servant appeared and led Evelyn, with Mercy in tow, up to Mercy's chamber. Henry Tatewater did not appear when Mercy returned to the foyer of his home, nor did she see him step out of the house as the carriage in which she, Blackhawk and the Whitmeyers rode away in. She turned away and wiped a stray tear from her eye. She felt Evelyn's fingers squeeze her hand. "Blackhawk will provide for you," Evelyn whispered. "In all ways?" Mercy asked back. Evelyn smiled warmly and whispered even lower than before, "Oh my dear sweet Mercy. I have a feeling you are a bundle of untapped energy and James will serve you well." Mercy felt her nipples grow taut and a sliver of moisture seeped from her pussy lips. The words Evelyn spoke had been said in such a way that Mercy's whole body responded. Her pulse began to race. Her eyes dilated and her sex throbbed in anticipation of her first encounter with Captain James Blackhawk. When the carriage pulled up to the Whitmeyer estate, Mercy wondered if her new Master would seek her company or would he wait until they were aboard his ship. A rush of desire and lust flowed through her, soaking the lace panties that barely covered her bare mound. The men helped their ladies from the carriage and then it was sent to the docks, where Mercy's belongings would be unloaded and stored in the Captain's cabin. Mercy followed behind James, as did Evelyn with her husband Everett. Once inside, Evelyn helped her husband with his coat and Mercy followed suit. Both women were thanked and James asked his hostess to show Mercy to his chambers. Mercy glanced up at James and saw desire and hunger in his eyes. A soft whimper slipped past her lips when she saw James smirk. "Tatewater claims you like the feel of a whip," he said to Mercy. "Is that true?" Mercy swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared deep within her throat. "Yes, Sir, it is." James continued to stare at Mercy, but he spoke to Evelyn. "Eve, have her placed on the cross and lay out the red-corded snake whip." Captain Blackhawk watched Mercy's lips tremble and her chest rise suddenly from the draw of breath she took. He felt his cock rise and knew that he had made the right choice in pushing Tatewater into relinquishing the one called Mercy. He along with Everett watched the two women leave. When they were gone Everett turned and asked, "How long will you keep her?" James laughed. "As long as I'm able," he answered. "I have a feeling there is more to Ms Mercy than Henry Tatewater realized." Everett nodded his head. "I have a feeling Eve will have much to tell me when she finishes preparing your newest prize. Let us grab a drink before we retire," Everett quickly added, then led his guest and long-time friend toward his study. The two men drank and Everett asked James another telling question. "Will you share her with your men and the other women you have commissioned for the trip?" "Most likely. I am curious how well Tatewater trained her." Everett nodded his head in understanding. "From what I know of Tatewater, he's a wet pup in regards to what you and I enjoy. His father though," a long sigh escaped his lips, "that was a cruel man. Evelyn and I both warned women away from him. Some listened, others did not." "So you don't believe she's reached her full potential?" James Blackhawk's friend laughed. "I doubt it's even been breached." James finished his drink, smiled wide and took his leave. He headed up to the chambers that had been assigned to him, and opened the door. Much to his delight Evelyn had done as he'd instructed and his new pet was securely tied to the Saint Andrew's, facing him. She had been stripped of her lovely gown and her body shimmered in the light. Evelyn had gone one step further to please her house guest enjoyed by rubbing one of her fruited lotions into Mercy's skin. "Tell me," he said, after shutting the door behind him, "did Evelyn make you come as she massaged the," he sniffed the air, "cherry lotion into your skin?" Mercy shook her head no and answered the same with a soft voice. "She did however bring me close several times." James grinned. "So Tatewater taught you to control your orgasms?" "No Sir. Ruth did." "Ruth?" he asked as he slowly began to disrobe. "Tatewater had multiple pets?" Mercy shook her head. "He had slaves, not pets. Though I was the only one he assigned names too, so perhaps I was his only pet." James reached her side, his clothing left scattered behind him, and cupped one of her breasts. He rubbed his thumb across the pert nipple and smiled when it hardened further. "And why did you wish to control your climaxes?" he asked, as he rolled the pink jewel between his fingers and watched how its twin responded to being ignored. A soft moan of pleasure spilled past Mercy's lips. "It was selfish of me, I know. But if I came too soon, he would fuck me and then the ride would be over. As you know I enjoy the whip and I wanted to prolong the beatings in order to keep them coming." "Your honesty is refreshing," he whispered, before running his palm down her ribcage and watching her jerk from his touch. "Ticklish?" "Yes, Sir." He pressed his palm against her sex, cupping it so that his fingers rested at the base of her slit. He curled his fingers and divided her slick mound as he slid his hand upward. "Evelyn did well, in preparing you," he whispered, as he brought his soaked fingers to his lips. He watched Mercy's expression while he sucked on the nectar that coated his flesh. "Tell me more about your experiences within the bedroom of Tatewater. Have you had other men? And this Ruth you speak of, tell me about her." Mercy shared with him her past and described to him what Tatewater did to her. As she spoke, James touched her breasts, arms, hips, and teased her pussy hole with his fingers. "So you've only lain with one woman and Tatewater had a fetish for breast milk." "Yes," Mercy whispered in a voice that spoke of her rising passion. "And you, my pet," James said as he reached for the whip that Evelyn had left hanging on a peg near the cross, "you have a fetish for beatings?" Her gaze darted to the fingers that were now curled around the whips handle. She licked her lips and then shifted her gaze back to his face. "Yes," she said, before taking a breath and asking him, "Do you wish me to behave any particular way?" James snapped the whip and watched her tremble. He reached between her legs and felt fresh juices. "You will always address me as either Sir, or Captain. You do not need to hold back your climaxes. I will beat you until you beg for me to stop and then if I feel you are not quite done, I will continue to beat you. So come, dear pet as many times as you wish, as hard as you wish." He opened her mouth with his hands and fed her some of her juices. "You are my pet. Rarely will I address you as Mercy. You will walk behind me, but anticipate my move and when I have need of your services, no matter what they are, or where they are, or who is there to witness us -- you will perform for me. Do you understand?" She shook her head yes and then answered with a shaky voice. "I understand, Sir. I wish only to please you." "And in truth," he said, before stepping back and snapping the whip again, "I wish to please you as well as myself." Her eyes widened and she watched him lift his arm. Just as the leather sailed through the air, Mercy kept her eyes open until the last second. Just as the tip hit her right nipple, she closed her eyes. Instant pleasure skated through her breasts and down to her sex. She gasped as a second biting sting was placed on the center of her left tit. Again she felt the heat of the kiss dance across her skin and shoot through to her abdomen. Her back arched and her arms and legs, that were bound to the cross, twisted slightly, almost as if they were begging to be caressed too. Much to her delight her new Master saw her needs and soon the whip was laid across her sex, her thighs, her upper arms. The kisses did not break skin, but they left the telling marks of pink trails that spoke of her willingness to submit to the pain and use it for pleasure. "Don't hold back, pet." James' voice was still foreign to her, but she knew there was an edge of anger in it. She opened her eyes and saw him lifting his hand to deliver another arcing blow to her skin. The smack landed squarely on her pussy and brought such an intense amount of joy to Mercy that her climax erupted from her tight channel. The One Called Mercy Ch. 03 1834 The sound of screaming women along with the shouting of men, brought Mercy out of her sleep. She stood up just as the door to the Captain's quarters was smashed open. Instinctively she reached for the gun, hidden in the drawer, next to the Captain's bed. At the same time her gaze caught the glistening tip of a sword as it protruded out of her Sir's chest. This time the screaming she heard was her own. James' body was kicked from behind, as the sword was pulled free. Two men stepped through, and both aimed their weapons at Mercy and silently dared her to continue her quest. She lowered her hand and stood still as they approached. There was no rush to freedom, no chance to hide in the bowels of the ship, no way to win against two well-armed and well-trained men, so Mercy did nothing. They grabbed both of her arms and pushed her past the dead man, who had cared for her for the past three years. On deck she saw the carnage that greeted her. James' men, were either dead or dying. Whomever had boarded the ship had spared no life, except the women. Mercy understood her fate, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. The other women, women who had just been commissioned by Blackhawk, three weeks ago, stood cowering in fear. Mercy went to them, and when the man, she assumed had led the attack, ordered his men to take the women, she was the only one that did not fight. When they were on board the other ship, she along with the others, were taken to a room, where several more women sat on torn and dirty blankets. A lump of fear formed in Mercy's chest as her gaze took in the shackles on their legs and the collars on their necks. Their bodies were bruised, covered in feces, and looked both dehydrated and malnourished. Rape, was something Mercy had once been used to and as she looked at the women who had fought their captors, she knew no matter how hard she tried to please them, she would fail. The first night she was given to the captain and three other men, as well as a woman who had coal for a heart. Mercy did as she was told, but she knew it did not matter. They reveled in the pain they delivered upon her person, but no matter how hard they hit her, they never broke a bone, nor did they break her skin. For two weeks she and the women traveled; during this time another ship was taken and the men slaughtered, and the two women on board, the Captain's wife and daughter were taken captive. When the ship settled into a harbor that was unknown to Mercy, she sported two black eyes, a bruised and swollen lip, as well as fist size bruises on her abdomen, thighs, and chest. There were smaller ones as well, but again nothing that would not heal over time. The women were all taken to stockyards that had been hastily constructed and were tethered to each other by a long chain that was secured to each woman's iron collar. A group of men and women, all dressed in what Mercy could only describe as regal finery, stood waiting for the auction to begin. One by one women and men from various ships were led up three rickety stairs and paraded in front of the group. Eventually is was Mercy's turn. A man with rough hands, lifted her chin and forced her to stare at the crowd. She chose to look above them, not making eye contact with anyone, but instead choosing to look beyond their lustful eyes and greedy expression, taking in the endless sea behind them. The shouted "Sold" barely brought her out of her musings, nor did the way she was handled by the man who pulled her off the stage and pushed her toward her new Master. Through swollen lids, she stared into a face bearing a frown and a deep furrowed brow. She felt his fingers wrap around her arm. She winced when the pads of his digits came in contact with a fresh bruise. A soft curse fell from his lips, and his grip slackened. "Come along and behave as you've been trained," the voice hissed, before tugging firmly, but gently on her person. Mercy followed behind her Master, keeping two steps behind him and to his right. She glanced briefly around her, taking note of where they were going. A carriage waited along with two dark mares that stomped angrily at the smell of blood, urine, and fear that hung in the air from the slaves that were being sold. When the two of them reached the steeds, the man opened the door and helped Mercy inside. Behind the closed door, he tapped the roof, signaling to the driver that he was ready to leave. The vehicle jerked forward and Mercy's new Master let out a long and heavy sigh. "Answer me truthfully," the man was saying, "are you Mercy -- Henry Tatewater's Mercy?" Mercy's head snapped up and her eyes flickered over the man's face. She tried desperately to recognize his features and his style of dress, yet nothing came to her. The tip of her tongue darted out, moistening her broken lip. "I was once his," she whispered, before again reaching into her past and trying to determine who the man was. "I thought as much and I can only guess that James' ship is no more, nor is James?" Mercy's lower lip trembled. She closed her eyes, lowered her head and whispered the tale that had more questions than answers. The only thing she could confirm is that James was indeed no more. "I'll admit, when they paraded you across the auction block, I doubted it was you. But even though it is obvious your prison has not been kind to you, you still emit an aura that cannot be denied." Still Mercy said nothing as she listened to the man speak, hoping his voice would stir some memory buried deep inside her. He knew Tatewater. He knew James. "You were at the party, weren't you?" she asked, as she openly stared at his face. He smiled wide. "And the card game, the one where James won you." "I don't know you though. I kept to myself, unless Lady Evelyn pulled me somewhere and," she stopped talking and studied him again. Dawning filled her features when she found his image in her mind. "I do remember you now. But we were not introduced." "No, we were not," he reached out and took one of her hands. Tenderly he stroked the top before turning it over. "I am Samuel Rueben, your new Master." Mercy felt somewhat relieved that Rueben had purchased her. Though she knew nothing of him, she was aware of who his friends were. Thoughts of Evelyn washed over her and for a moment she felt a tightness in her chest that bordered on relief. She pushed it back, fearing that Rueben would fail in her eyes and not be as kindhearted as his acquaintances. For the first time in years Mercy ached for tenderness. "Mercy, I won't ask much from you, not until you are fully healed. I also want you to know that I normally do not purchase slaves. My women have always been willing, but when I saw you, I was dumbstruck and astounded. Even more so when I realized it was indeed you and not my eyes deceiving me," he cleared his throat, "and Tatewater showed such emotion when he lost you -- I had to admit, I was curious from that day on as to what made you so delectable." Mercy's lips rose in a small grin, before she answered back. "I have no qualms about being your slave, Master and if you have needs that must be met before my body heals, I will serve to provide for you in all ways." Samuel groaned and shifted in his seat. "You speak words that stir a man's blood, but no, I will wait." He turned and looked outside, then back to Mercy. "We are far from where you started, just off the shores of Cobaltron. Several weeks from my home in the city and during that time we will travel and rest at some of the finest inns. For now though, I am staying with a young couple, who are not adverse to slavery, nor are they kind to their human property. I shall gather my things, leave a short note and explain my departure with a lie that will be accepted, if not believed." "Are your friends there, or are they making purchases?" she asked, both of them knew the purchases she spoke of. "They are looking to replace several 'livestock' that have finally drawn their last breaths," Samuel admitted. He looked at Mercy's questioning gaze and answered her unspoken question. "They are friends of my family. This trip is expected of me, it keeps the lines of communication open. They are wealthy and give greatly to many causes that my father and mother find pleasing. So I do the duty of a second son and do so with a false smile and a thick purse, again thanks to my parents." "Your friends Master are yours." Samuel grinned, leaned back and closed his eyes. "Master -- I do like how you say it. Such devotion," he whispered. "Lay down Mercy, cover yourself with a blanket," he pointed under the bench, "and when we get to my friends' home, I'll have the collar and chain removed. Afterward, you'll wait in the carriage and speak to no one. It will take less than an hour for me to have my things gathered and packed away." "Yes, Master," she whispered before reaching under the bench and pulled out the blanket. Mercy did as she was told and soon exhaustion wrapped itself around her and took her into a deep and dreamless sleep. It was dark when Mercy felt a soft caress on her cheek. She turned into it, whispered something inaudible and opened her eyes. A lantern was lifted above her face. The light caste an eerie glow as it tried to invade the darkness. She sat up, groaned and placed both palms over her eyes. "We're here," Samuel whispered, before passing the lamp to another. "Where is here?" she asked. "Our first stop," he answered. "You could not be woken, but once it was determined you were merely sleeping, dead to the world and all around you, but not truly dead, I left you under the watchful eyes of my man, Keith and he tended to the collar. You were, according to him, quiet an easy patient, though you mumbled a lot while he cared for you." Mercy frowned. "I remember none of it," she admitted. "I'm not surprised. Your living conditions did not allow you to relax your mind for long, did it?" he asked, though they both knew the question was not meant to be answered. "Are you able to walk?" Samuel asked, as he stepped out of the carriage and offered his arm to Mercy. She took a deep breath and stepped free of the carriage, accepted his arm and then noticed she wore a robe. "I truly was dead to the world," she whispered, more to herself than her Master. "Yes, you were. Come, there is a room for us and as I stated before you succumbed to sleep, I made my excuses to my friends via a letter. We will rest here for the night and carry on. Once I feel your more yourself, we'll go over the rules. For now, Mercy, you are to just remain passive and not draw unnecessary attention to yourself." Mercy glanced back at him and nodded her head. They walked into the Inn, where they were immediately taken to their rooms above the tavern. Mercy said nothing, nor did she look at anyone, choosing instead to do as commanded and keep her head downcast and her eyes on her Master's feet. Inside the room was a tub, already full of hot water. "For you," Samuel told her, before turning away and leaving her alone. The new found freedom was strange to Mercy, though deep in her gut she knew she was not free. It did not concern her, being owned by yet another man, in truth she felt relief because she was no longer a pawn to every man and woman's fantasy. She would again learn the needs of her Master and normalcy would return to her life. She removed the robe she wore and stepped into the hot water. The initial sting was hard to accept, but she refused to pull out and wait for the water to cool. Instead she took a deep breath, welcomed the tears in her eyes and sat down in the hot liquid. It did not take long for the water and her body to become friends. She leaned back, sighed and welcomed the heat that penetrated her battered flesh. Samuel found her once again asleep. The water had gone cold and her lips were slightly blue. He shook his head, and woke her, once more she spoke words that could not be understood and once more he chuckled them away. He took off his shirt, lifted her from the water and placed her on the bed, before draping several blankets over her wet body. After he extinguished the lanterns, he disrobed entirely and crawled in beside her. Soon she was in his arms and he was forcing his body to not respond to her gentle curves. A soft curse fell from his lips as he closed his eyes and prayed for sleep to come and come quickly. They traveled for several weeks and as promised Samuel did not ask her to see to his needs, though he insisted on being the one to spread healing salves upon her skin -- salves he'd been given by one of his friends' slave keepers. During the first few days, the creams aided Mercy in healing and she welcomed the warmth and later cool feeling that seemed to radiate from her muscles and dance across her flesh. As she healed, though the creams were still administered, but Samuel's touch had changed. No longer did they seem based solely on making her better, but now they made her ache for a deeper touch, a more firm caress, and a more rewarding result. Often she would turn toward him, whimper softly, gasp erotically and spread her legs. Out of the corner of her eyes, she would see him fight an inner war with himself and yet he did not take her and claim her as his slut, whore, or pet. She did not ask him to ease her suffering, he had told her from the beginning that when he felt she was ready he would place his needs upon her. So Mercy waited and felt her body growing not only stronger, but more hungry for her Master's cock and dancing tongue. They were less than a day away from the city and Samuel had not yet taken Mercy as his. He knew she was whole again. He knew she desired him and he definitely desired her, but he was not sure what needs he could meet for the rare gift he knew that Mercy was. He had spent hours thinking about what Tatewater had shared, as well as what he knew of James Blackhawk's perversion. He was not like either man. He knew how to handle a whip, flogger, cat o'Nines, a cane and had incorporated knife play into his bedroom, but none of these things did he enjoy -- not nearly as much as the men and women he surrounded himself with. Having Mercy in his bed should excite him, not frighten him. He did not want to admit his inability to please her, nor did he want to appear weak in his slave's eyes. It would not take much for another man to swoop in and capture the tantalizing creature's devotion. It had happened before and it would most likely happen again, if he could not tend to all of Mercy. "Master?" Samuel looked up and gazed at the woman who had slipped from the carriage bench and now rested on her knees in front of him. His cock jerked forward, stiffening instantly. "Yes?" he said, clearing his throat. "I wish to ask you a question," she lowered her gaze, "or two -- maybe three." He chuckled softly. "You may ask them." "Have I displeased you?" Samuel sighed. "No." "Do you find me unappealing?" This time he answered with a low and throaty chuckle. "No." "May I draw your cock into my throat and taste your cum?" Samuel choked and coughed on the air that had become lodged in his throat. He closed his eyes after seeing and hearing the longing in her eyes and voice. "Yes, my slut. Yes, you may have my cock." He moved to release the stays of his trousers and stopped when she whispered, "Please Master, let me." His hands fell to his side and Mercy smiled warmly. Her fingers worked to free his throbbing member and when it bounced out, her mouth was there to catch it. Samuel became lost in Mercy's touch and Mercy became lost in pleasing her Master as well as feeding the hunger that had been building inside her. She took him fully down her throat, held him and sucked greedily on his tool, before rising up and letting it fall into her hand. Her tongue lapped around each ridged vein, before sliding down to lick and tease his testicles. She opened her mouth, swallowed the spongy spheres and massaged them back and forth across the flat of her tongue. The sound of his groaning and the feel of his hands in her hair made Mercy's pussy flex and tighten. He pushed her down and she buried her face into the coarse hairs of his sex, breathing in his musky scent. "Fuck. Fuck, yes," he muttered. Mercy looked up and saw the pleasure on her Master's face. She smiled around his balls, popped off them and went back to sucking and drawing the blood of his cock through its thick veins. She felt the rushing crimson fluid on her tongue and knew that soon he would be giving her the hot white cream she craved. Mercy quickened her pace, and used her fingers to play with his ball sack and the tender marbles safely tucked inside. When she felt him tighten his hold on her hair, as well as the change in the way his balls felt, she quickly took all of him back down his throat and coaxed his cum to the surface. The milky juice exploded and caused her to gag, but the feeling was anything but discomforting. It was embraced by her, a warm friend easing down her throat and settling in her belly. A sense of rightness swept over Mercy as she milked more from his shaft and suckled the drops until he was pulling her off him and onto his lap. Samuel kissed her deeply and Mercy, reluctantly gave up the last few slivers of flavor to her Master. When the kiss was over, he buried his face into her neck and sucked softly. After a few moments he reached under her dress and felt her slick pussy. "Your turn," he hissed, before driving three fingers into her sex and pumping them in and out. Mercy was quick to come, allowing herself the freedom to explode only when Samuel demanded it of her. She flooded his palm and when he offered her the nectar to drink, she did not hesitate. The moan of pleasure that escaped her parted lips seemed foreign to Mercy and yet felt somewhat familiar. "You are amazing," Samuel whispered, before kissing her again. She blushed and he laughed. "Even after all you've done and all you've been through, you still grow pink when a man compliments you." Mercy buried her head in his chest and pressed into him. Samuel took a deep breath. "I shall try not to fail you," he whispered. "It is I that shall work hard not to fail you," Mercy said, correcting her Master's words. Samuel said nothing, but in his gut he felt he was already losing what he had just gained. For months Samuel kept Mercy a secret from his friends. She controlled his home, much like a wife would, and this seemed acceptable to the staff. For Mercy though it seemed wrong. She was not a wife, nor was she a man's mistress. She was a slave, a pet, a trollop, and yet Samuel treated her as such only in his bedroom. She ached to sit at his feet, to crawl behind him, to beg him to let her come. The only time she received a flogging was if she laid out the tools of the trade and even then the slaps were timid, ill placed, and ill timed. Frustration grew deep in her chest and her displeasure eventually showed by the way she hurried to deal with his erection and his basic needs. One evening however she was told that Samuel would be hosting a small party, one in which she would be exposed to his friends, and reunited with Lady Evelyn and Lord Everett. The evening arrived and with it Mercy was greeted joyously by Evelyn. The women shared a hug, a quick kiss on the cheek and quickly disappeared to talk privately. Everett, Samuel, and Morgan Benedict, along with Isabell, Morgan's long-standing pet, headed in the opposite direction that what the two ladies took and began to eat, drink, and gamble. Alone with Evelyn, Mercy finally wept for the loss of her Captain. She shared with Evelyn the horrors she faced and the journey that Samuel and she had taken across the country. When Evelyn asked about Samuel's ability to tend to all of his submissive's needs, Mercy faltered and her lies were easy to read. "He doesn't please you," Evelyn said, once Mercy had finished saying that she couldn't be happier. The One Called Mercy Ch. 04 1836 The silence of the room held the secrets that each occupant was holding close to their chests. Morgan Benedict was no different, nor did he believe the young woman sitting across from him was either. Mercy Lewis, though a guest in his home under unique circumstances, was still after all human and that meant that she had her personal demons and what those were were none of his concern. What did concern him was her current health and well-being after all her former Master, Sir Samuel Reuben had left her deeded to Morgan in lieu of a cash settlement. Morgan cleared his throat and tapped the top of the parchment in which Reuben had transcribed the offer. "And you were allowed to read this?" he asked the woman who had merely offered him the letter and took the seat he'd pointed out to her. "Yes, Sir." "And you are in agreement to the terms and willing to abide by those I set forth?" "I am," Mercy answered. She knew the contents of the letter. Samuel Reuben, her former Master, had become buried in a mountain of debt and one of those debtors happened to be Lord Morgan Benedict. Samuel had called Mercy into his study and explained that he would no longer be able to provide for her, but if she were willing he was sure that Lord Benedict would take her in. When she voiced her doubt, he explained the circumstances in which she go to him. She would fulfill whatever role he needed, including and not limited to all things sexual and domestic. "So I am to be his slave?" she had asked him. His reply had been a simple yes, but she could tell him "no" and be on her way. Mercy had seen no other option for herself. She had lived the life as a companion to men since her 18th birthday when her father took it upon himself to sell her virginity and her person to a local farmer. She became his bed-mate, as well as the mother to his children. He later sold her when an offer that was too lucrative to pass up was placed before him. With that Master she was taken to sea. The captain of the ship used her, not only for his own enjoyment, but would often pass her to his men. Samuel had been next, having purchased her from the auction block. Over the course of her twenty-six years, Mercy had called four different men Master, five if one counted her father, but blessedly he never exerted his lust upon her. Morgan Benedict was not a stranger to her and in truth she was glad to have found protection under his roof. "Mercy, it says here that you were given the option to remain free and not tethered to me because of Reuben's debt. Why have you chosen to remain a servant to man's sexual urges?" Morgan was asking. She tilted her head to one side and looked to be considering his question, but in fact she was curious to his desire or lack of desire to keep her. Unable to read his expression, Mercy cleared her throat and began to explain her reasoning behind paying off Reuben's debt. "Lord Benedict, you are not a stranger to me, for in fact you and Sir Samuel have used me simultaneously during one of his parties." Morgan lifted a brow, inclined his head and acknowledged the truth behind her words. "I recall the pleasure you gave and the gentle, yet firmness of your hand. I do not know how much of my past you are aware of, but I have never been a free woman. Not really. Upon my 18th birthday, my father sold me to a local farmer, who later sold me to another man, and so on and so on, until I became Sir Samuel's charge. I had hoped to stay with him until my end days, but as you are well aware, his gambling is not nearly as profitable as he wishes it to be." "Perhaps not, but still you will be indebted to me for a period of one year. You could be free now." Mercy smiled warmly. "Lord Benedict, I have seen free women. I do not wish to be one of them. Free women of our time are poor, uneducated, unkempt, filthy, and when they sell their bodies they do it for a coin or two and are often left beaten and diseased." "And you are not diseased? Did you not spend time with pirates?" "You know I am not. My Lord and Savior chose to protect me from the warts and bugs that often coat the seamen. The Captain of that ship was a nobleman as well," she cleared her throat, "at least in regards to his hygiene and the hygiene of his men." "So you are willing to be mine for one year and then what? Will you seek your freedom then?" "Truthfully, I hope to take this year to convince you and Mistress Isabell would be so pleased with me that you would keep me as your own. If not, then I would ask that you help me find another benefactor that enjoys the same delicacies in the bedroom that our circle enjoys." Morgan chuckled. "I've never heard it put quite that way. 'Delicacies in the bedroom'. Some would say we are heathen and demented. Perverse and sinful." Mercy shrugged her shoulders. "When it is done between consenting adults there is nothing wrong with what we do. A whip laid across flesh can be quite arousing when it is done properly," she then looked seductively at Morgan, "and I recall you lay a whip across an ass quite well." Lord Benedict tilted his head, acknowledging her compliment. "There is one thing that you should know, in case your desire for her is what truly brings you to my door. Lady Isabell is no longer housed within these walls." The look of surprise told Morgan what he needed to know. Isabell's departure had been handled swiftly and discretely, two things he had insisted on when he was ridding himself of her. "May I ask what happened?" "She was caught removing things from the house that did not belong to her. I shall not tolerate theft." Mercy's gaze widened. "I would never bite the hand that feeds me, Sir." "Yes, well Isabell did and she is now housed far from here. Safe, but she will not return to our shores anytime soon," Morgan leaned back in his chair, "I also expect you to remain true to me and me alone. My secrets are mine and if I share them with you they go no further. I will own your body, possess your soul and you will not give either to another man or woman without my permission. Is that acceptable to you?" "Of course," Mercy told him. "Lord Benedict, I did not just fall off the cart Sir. I will admit that my desire for you runs deep and in truth I am anxious to serve you." "Are you ready now?" he asked. Mercy's breath caught her in throat. She licked her lips and nodded her head. "I am yours to command." "Come here Mercy and ride my cock." Morgan watched as Mercy's lips rose in a genuine smile of pleasure. Her earlier proclamation that she had found him pleasing was telling in that smile. As she walked around his desk, he opened his trousers and pulled out his shaft. It had lengthened the moment Mercy had stepped into his study and it had grown thick and hard as he had read the letter from her former Master. She reached his side and licked her lips. "Does it please you?" he asked with a slight smirk on his lips. "Yes, Sir. All of you pleases me, and I hope to please you." "I am sure you will, Mercy." She lifted her skirts and climbed onto his lap. His chair had no armrests, so straddling him was not a difficult task for her nimble legs. He felt the heat of her sex surround him as she slowly drew him into her slick hole. "You are quite ready, aren't you slut?" Mercy moaned softly. "Yes, Sir. I admit," she sighed as she settled around him, "that I was ready the moment my former Master told me of his idea." Again Morgan grinned. He placed his hands on her hips and began to rock her back and forth. She squeezed his rod, massaging his dick with the tight muscles of her sex until he was grunting and groaning in appreciation. Their initial act of fucking did not take long, his desire to fill her with his seed and mark her as his was too great. He coated her sex, and left her panting and wanting. "Mercy, this is not the room in which I wish to make you come. Not yet." She smiled softly. "Go to my chambers, there is a door to the left of my bed. Go there and wait for me," Morgan told her. Mercy nodded her head, got up and stared at his moist cock. "May I?" "Yes, my slut." She got down on her knees and washed away the evidence of their mating. When she was done Morgan knew her desire was great. He had heard her whimpers and moans while she cleansed him of cum and fluid. "You are a hungry one, aren't you?" He rubbed her cheek, and toyed with her hair. A soft blush rolled over her cheeks as she rose from the floor. "I believe Master Benedict, that I was made for you. Only you can feed me." Morgan's cock tightened and jerked. "Go Mercy and prepare yourself. You may choose what you desire -- this time." "Yes, Sir." She left his study and made her way across the foyer, up the staircase and down the hall. Mercy was familiar with the layout of Benedict's home. She had been a guest there many a night when parties were thrown and Samuel had brought her. Now she lived within the walls of the man she had secretly craved for years. Once inside his bedchamber Mercy felt at peace. She walked around his chambers, taking note where his boots were, as well as the layout of his shaving and grooming tools. She opened the armoire and memorized how his clothing was stored, and what pieces went where. Her goal was to become indispensable to her Master and though she knew she would never replace Gregory, his devoted man servant, she would do her best to lighten his load. Mercy made her way to the room where she'd been instructed to go. Beside the door was a long lighting stick, which she lit from a turned down lantern that rested on the table. With the stick lit, she opened the door and lit the lantern that protruded from the wall, then quickly circled the room lighting all the candles and lanterns that she saw. Afterward Mercy stood back and gazed hungrily upon her Master's surroundings. Against the north wall was a beautiful, polished St. Andrew's Cross with leather padding and leather restraints with gleaming metal buckles. Beside this was a table full of various implements of pain and pleasure. Whips and floggers made of different materials, as well as varying weights and lengths. Along the south wall, Morgan Benedict had erected a set of pulleys that Mercy knew would allow him to suspend his prey for hours, if he willed it. There were shackles on the wall with metal rings and locks that would take twenty healthy men to pull from their housing. The east wall housed a bed, though it was more narrow than the bed in the master chamber. It was there to serve a purpose, it was not there for comfort and rest. Mercy shivered in anticipation of being taken upon the coarse covers by her Master. The west wall, which led to Benedict's bedchamber was for the most part bare. There was a paddling table, as well as a variety of paddles that hung from the wall. Another table with more tools depicting her Master's sexual desire rested next to the paddling table. "Beautiful," she whispered, before releasing the buttons of her jacket, and pulling it off. She then released the strips of satin that kept her bodice closed. Following that, she removed her shoes, stockings and garters. Her sex was still wet from Morgan's earlier release. She dipped her fingers into her pussy and licked them clean. A shutter of lust rolled through her as she imagined supping on more of his cum. After she satisfied the hunger on her tongue, she pulled off her dress and placed all her belongings on a hook that hung from the wall. She had not brought anything else with her. Samuel had told her that her new Master would provide for her and so she left with only what she'd worn on her person. Mercy walked away from all she owned and headed toward the pulley system. Morgan had told her to prepare herself and had given her free reign on how little or how much abuse she would be given. Mercy wanted it all. Samuel, for as perverse as he was, he was not nearly as cruel as she desired. Morgan would be, she had no doubt and she wanted him to know that she craved everything. Morgan remained in the study for just under an hour. He sent a letter to Samuel, accepting Mercy as payment in full. Another missive was sent to Madam Brume, a well known seamstress who was known not only for her tight stitchery, but also for discretion. A third letter was sent to his bank, and account was opened in the name of Ms. Mercy Lewis. Benedict knew that over time society would know Ms. Lewis' place in his life, but he also was aware that if you bought discretion, it was supplied, even if everyone knew it didn't exist. Once he had finished his letters, and addressed his house staff, he headed up to his rooms. His desire to once again bury his cock between the tight moist walls of Mercy's cunt had kept him hard for the past hour and his need made his balls ache. He walked into the dungeon and grinned at the naked woman who faced the wall. Mercy had chosen the pulley system as the first scene they would play out. She had placed the iron clamps upon her ankles, locked them together, and then placed her hands inside the ones that were suspended above her head. It had not been hard for her to restrain herself, a quick flick of the wrist and the restraints had snapped into place. He promised to show her later how she could free herself, if the need ever arose. For now he could not help but admire her round ass, long legs and the curve of her breasts as they swayed whenever his little slut moved. "I see you are eager to play," Morgan said before closing the door and walking toward the delicate morsel of sin. "Yes, Sir." He smiled as he glanced at her choice of toys. A 4' whip of the finest braided leather rested next to a flogger made of similar material. Beside this were clamps that would dig into his pet's skin and next to those were small weights that could be added to the clamps cord, weighing down the sensitive flesh. His cock jerked at the image of Mercy taking every strike and begging for more. "Did Samuel feed you well?" he asked, as he ran one palm across her ass and squeezed the sweet round globe. "He did his best, Sir." "But you've desired more haven't you Mercy?" he asked, before gliding his hand between her ass cheeks and toying with her tight asshole. Mercy pushed back on his finger. "I have Sir." "Did you not let Samuel know your desires?" "It was not my place Sir. He was pleased with me and that was what mattered." Morgan frowned. "Perhaps to some Master's, but for my pleasure I wish to know what you desire as well. It may not be something I am willing to give you, but I would ask you tell me and let me decide. Do not withhold your lust from me. Is this understood?" "Yes, Sir." "Good. Now I see you've not been shy in regards to our playing, nor will I." Morgan disrobed, storing his clothes on a hook next to the one Mercy had used. When he returned to her side, he picked up the clamps and secured them to her nipples and her clit. A small chain hung from each polished end and to this he added two steel weights. Mercy groaned from the bite of the clamps' teeth and the heaviness of the steel. Her sex tightened and moisture seeped from her pussy lips. Morgan ran a palm across her abdomen. His fingers trailed across the smooth shaved surface of her sex. She hissed softly when his nails scrapped lazily down her wet lips and when the knuckle of his thumb pushed between them to tease her clit, causing the clamp to jostle against her flesh she bucked against him. "I recall you being very responsive. It is good to see this has not changed." Morgan turned a handle that was anchored to the wall and soon Mercy was being slowly lifted off the ground. He watched her chest rise and fall in excited breaths. When he was happy with her position, he gave her a soft push and Mercy spun around three times. After she stopped swaying Morgan was there to bring down three quick and well-placed lashes with his whip. "Your name my pet -- Mercy -- that will be the word you call out when you wish for me to be less heavy handed. And you will call out stay when you wish for me to stop. Understood?" "Yes, Sir." "Then we shall begin." Mercy took a deep breath, hoping to calm the fury of excitement that was dancing through her veins. The first three lashes had been like a balm to her hungry soul and as Morgan began to deliver another volley of them, she felt her passion rising. The tail of the whip kissed her back, the small of her back, and the backs of her thighs. The leather tail snaked around her torso, and bit the underside of her right breast. She bit down on her lower lip, welcoming each sting and secretly craving for more. Morgan watched her face and saw the juices of her sex glisten in the light that spilled about the room. He drug the tail of the whip against her pussy, catching the juice and coating the weapon with her fragrance. He brought it down again, this time across her chest, belly and sex. She bucked against her restraints. The weights and the chains that were tethered to the clamps swayed angrily back and forth, pulling on her flesh and making her skin grow red and sore. "Cry out your passion, slut," Morgan shouted as six more strikes of the whip were laid upon her bare flesh. Mercy did not hesitate. She begged him for more. Her nectar slid from her cunt, coating her thighs and trailing down her alabaster skin. "Master?" "Yes?" Morgan's voice was soft. He trailed the whip along her ribs and down her thighs, teased the crack of her ass with the handle and kissed her back. "What is it, slut?" "When my body aches and the need to come overwhelms me, do you wish for me to ask permission?" "I do recall Samuel making that a requirement of you. No, slut. When my whore's need to come is so great. I do not wish her to waste time asking permission." He pushed the handle of the whip into her pussy and twisted the polished wood back and forth. "So come when you need my little bitch." "Yes, Master." Mercy sighed as Morgan fucked her repeatedly with the whip. He sucked on her clit, removing the clamp with his teeth, before pulling and tugging on the sensitive nub himself. Mercy's hips gyrated lewdly against his face. He smiled and sucked harder until she was screaming "Master" and showering him with her nectar. He watched with a satisfied smirk as her come flowed hot and freely down the whip and against his palm. After the first wave of come had rushed from her, Morgan pulled the whip away and lowered his mouth to her hot hole. He drank greedily from her pussy as another shot of clear hot lava flowed onto his tongue and down his throat. She bucked wildly and he held her still as he ate her out and caused her to come again. Her gasping and moaning, hissing and ragged breathing were signals that told Morgan to remove himself from her pussy. He stepped back, kissed her belly and reached out to remove the clamps from her sore nipples. He covered first the right with long languorous licks and gentle sucks, before repeating the same sweet treatment to the other. Mercy came again as her Master caressed and suckled her like a babe latched to a mother's breast. She felt her Master's smile against her breast and inside her heart melted. She opened her eyes and watched with awe as he nursed from her. The image was more breathtaking than her imagination had ever projected. When he was done he looked up and greeted her gaze with his hungry lustful one. "I am far from finished pet," he whispered before abandoning her tits and moving to grasp the flogger. His cock was hard. His balls ached and his desire to plunge his cock into her tight core was building, yet he called upon the discipline he was known for and waited for the right moment to once again coat her with his seed.