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Review This Story || Author: Katherine English

Small Mercies

Part 5 Her

Part V

Her

The chill of the air conditioning assails my flesh as I feel my clothing
part and my skin attempt to adapt to its altered state. My blouse...my
favorite...a Victorian dream, lays in tatters about my feet. All that is
left are my stockings, held in place (for the moment?) by the thinnest of
garters along my thigh, and the soft, black leather of my high-buttoned
boots.

I flush, my skin turning a rosy pink...my eyes, hidden now from view...
straining against the blind for a sign, any sign of your further
intentions.

"Mercy."

The word rolls around in my mind as I hear the metallic "click" of a snap
against my throat. A leash? Am I to be treated like an animal...a pet whose
only purpose is your amusement? Wantonly, I feel my nipples peak, hardening
almost painfully as the leather strap brushes against them.

A gentle tug...then more insistent, and I am lead away. My mind traces the
pathway across the room...to your den? Am I to be taken to (in?) this
"no-woman's" land, this last bastion of your male dominated world? I've
never been allowed in here before...never. The door, ever locked, has
thwarted even my own finely honed curiosity. And now I've arrived, led
naked and shivering by the unwavering firmness of your hand...into what?

I feel you behind me, your hands descending the line of my body...across my
turgid breasts (a painful tweak), downward past my abdomen to crudely grasp
my quivering mound.

You begin to stroke, to insinuate your finger once more...without
preamble...taking that which you have claimed as yours...your
conquest...your property.

I feel a whimper rise to my lips, but I hold it back. What if you don't
stop? What if you do? Which bears the greater threat?

And then I hear your voice in my ear...whispering...telling me of the
changes you've contracted with "special" craftsmen...artisans known only to
powerful men in certain, private circles. I am to be allowed a glimpse, but
only that...a brief titillation...an image to carry me through... what?

My blindfold falls away and the room begins to form before my eyes. I am
awestruck...breathless that so much could have been hidden behind so
innocuous a facade.

I feel a shiver...fear? Anticipation? Urgency? My eyes scan the walls,
decorated with implements of erotic manipulation... finding some things
totally familiar... but others?

This room comes well equipped. Before my widening eyes I see harness
leather, whips of various sizes and shapes, metallic clamps, the bulbous
form of a gag...with a strange, belted dais, in the shape of an "X"...the
centerpiece of this peculiar and threatening chamber of submission.

Ring-bolts have been set into heavy beams, both on the walls and from heavy
timbers traversing the ceiling.

Long wooden rods...yoke-like...iron-ringed at either end...their purpose
beyond my trembling comprehension sit waiting in a not forgotten corner.

A leather chair...comfortable and overstuffed...not meant for me I am sure,
fills a place against the far wall, an ottoman placed at its feet. This
room comes well equipped. A small voice within me cries out...

"Mercy...oh please, mercy!"

But all I hear is the minute hiss of the air conditioning, and the swish of
silk as my blindfold is replaced.

And then I am being lead once again...forward (toward the "X"?) and I feel
your hands, strong and insistent, pressing me down against the cool leather
surface...parting my thighs... rebinding me hand and foot...
exposed...helpless.

I feel the fear in my mouth...a thin metallic taste between my lips...I am
unable to cry out, struck dumb by my own terror.

"Mercy."

My back arches, a deceptive illusion of freedom, only to be taken
away...bound by a silken restraint...and then I hear it...the delicate
clink of ice in my fine crystal ice bucket. My throat parched, my lips open
gratefully, but to no avail.

And then I feel the first tortuous drop splash boldly against my nipple. I
tear at my bonds as the freezing teardrop descends my breast...calling my
flesh to full attention.

Then another...I cry out. "Please...no more...please!"

"Please what, Sarah Rose? Have you forgotten so soon?"

Your voice rasps, as yet another spate of frozen droplets assault my flesh,
this time lower, between my outstretched thighs.

"Oh my God...MASTER!!!...please...no more...no more!"

Your finger, cold and wet from your ministrations traces my parched and
quivering lower lip. I lunge to suckle, but it serves me not at all.

The clink of yet another cube against the crystal assails my ears. I feel
your fingers parting the auburn curls between my legs...opening
me...exposing me. An object... hard...cylindrical...freezing (party ice?)
penetrates deep into my body. I cry out, struggling for freedom. The chill,
so cold it burns my flesh endures...but can I?

My mind, but my mind only cries aloud.

"Mercy!"

But my lips remain silent as I feel the liquid, the by-product of my
torment, flow in embarrassing runnels from my body as its source sears me
to the core. It pools beneath my buttocks, running unchecked against the
small of my back. Shame overcomes me.

Is he watching? Can he tell that this effluent is a result of his acts and
not my own? What is he thinking?

Does he care?

Does my torment touch him at all?

Does he too have a "safe word"?



Review This Story || Author: Katherine English
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