Tender Mercies

Nine

Asher rubbed the salve over her back, re-dressed the wounds, and then wrapped a black silk robe around her, tying it at her hip. Her gaze was unfocused. She was off in her own world, and he didn’t know if he should disturb it. Had she gone to a good place or a bad place in her mind? Did she need time to process what had just taken place between them?

Although he felt guilt for pushing her so soon, he also reveled in the way her body gave in to his demands and how good she felt impaled on his cock.

He took her hand, his thumb pausing and pressing against the pulse point in her wrist. Slow and steady. He tugged on her and she stumbled forward a bit before her feet began moving.

“Grace?”

She looked up, her gaze suddenly clear. “Yes, Master?”

Such a fragile thing, as if she’d easily shatter in his hands. He found the power heady and erotic. The moment her back was healed, he had plans. “Are you ready for lunch?”

She nodded.

He guided her downstairs to the kitchen, where she glanced around as if looking for intruders. He recalled watching her at the showing, how self-conscious she was. Though she was too broken to rebel.

He intended to have her dressed in public. In something wicked and kinky, yes, but still, everything covered. Random exhibitionism didn’t turn her on, and Asher didn’t particularly get off on the idea of every dirty old man on Eleu assessing his property like window shoppers, either. The two of them were happily compatible in that way.

Her shoulders loosened as she realized they were alone.

“The driver stays in the pool house, and I’ll ask William not to lurk so much. It’s a large estate, and he can stay in the east wing. He’s got his own apartment and kitchen down there.”

Grace relaxed at that, but she still seemed on edge. They’d gone over a day without him laying out his most basic instructions. Once he got her into a routine, it would be better. He snapped and pointed beside the chair at the head of the table. There was a large, fluffy, round cushion on the floor. William had gotten it set up after breakfast.

“You will never stand in my presence at home. William has put out cushions around the house so you won’t hurt your knees. I won’t make you crawl everywhere, especially if there isn’t carpet.” She tentatively moved toward the cushion he’d pointed at and knelt. Peace drifted into her features as bits of structure were erected around her.

He continued. “You may roam freely around the house, but stay out of William’s living area. Also, my study is off-limits unless I call for you. The dungeon is also off-limits unless I take you there.” Not that he thought she had any inkling toward hanging out in the dungeon alone.

She kept her eyes down, her pose so sweetly submissive it drove him to distraction. “We already went over proper address. You’ll have a few chores. Mostly just keeping your room clean, maybe a little cooking. And the garden, though I mean for that to be more of an outlet than work. If you find you don’t like gardening you don’t have to do it. We’ll find you another hobby. Never leave the property without me. You may wear normal clothing except when I say otherwise. Other than that, just do as I say when I say it. I won’t hesitate to punish you, despite your history. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

Asher crossed to the cupboard and pulled out plates and glasses, busying himself with reheating a casserole William had made and left for them in the refrigerator. In his peripheral vision, he caught her watching his every move from the cushion on the floor. When both plates were heated and tea was poured, he placed his on the counter and hers on the hardwood in front of her.

“Kittens don’t eat at the table. Kittens don’t really get silverware either, but I’ll make an exception for you.” His chest tightened as he watched her tilt her head to the side as if she couldn’t remember what gentle teasing felt like.

“William put a cushion in your room. If you ever want to take a nap, you can sleep on that, or your sofa, or the lounger on your balcony. You’ll only sleep in the bed at night, with me. And only if you’re not being punished for something.” Her body grew still beside him, and he ran his fingers through her hair. She leaned against his leg.

He continued to pet her. “When we’re in public––” She tensed at that. “––you won’t speak unless spoken to and never to anyone besides me. In private you can always speak to me freely without asking. Just be respectful, though I know I won’t have to worry about that with you. You may also, of course, talk to William if you like, and your friend, Lainey. You can ask to call and speak to her or talk to her on the computer at any time. I can set up a webcam for you if you’d like to see each other.”

She seemed to be soaking it all in. He wished she felt comfortable enough to initiate conversation. Eventually they’d get there.

***

Grace knew she was trapped in the dream with Lucas, the dungeon, the tattered blanket, the whip. She could feel the blood running down her back far too fast to be real, and far too much to survive. Yet, survive, she did. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

Over and over the mantra repeated itself in her head. But the pounding of her pulse in her ears felt real. The fear felt real. The pain felt real. She tried to hold onto the fleeting realization that she was asleep and it would be over and she’d be safe as soon as she reached consciousness.

She was with Asher now, she had been for weeks, and she was starting to relax and trust him. Still, Lucas sometimes visited at night. The specter of her former master unwilling to let her go.

“Master, help me,” she said, as if somehow Asher could hear her from outside in the real world in his bed where she was no doubt being held against him in a protective embrace. Maybe she was shouting it in her sleep. She could only hope.

Any minute now, he might wake her from the nightmare as he had so many times before. Each time he’d pulled her into his arms, stroking her back, whispering soothing nonsense. Each time, she’d feel his hardness against her. It still bothered her that her fear made him want to f*ck her, but she found herself unable to fight against the sexual way he enthralled her to his will, making every orgasm sweeter than the last.

Lucas turned dark eyes on her. “Help you? Oh no, I’m just beginning. Look at all the lovely toys I have for us to play with.”

Grace squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to see the table of toys, most of which were meant to make her scream and cry and bleed.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said with disgust. As she’d started to recognize the dreams while they were happening, she’d gotten braver. Maybe too brave.

He rushed at her then, gripping her shoulders hard and shaking her. “You filthy little cunt. You will pay for that mouth of yours.”

Grace opened her eyes to find Asher shaking her. Yes, he’d heard her cry out for his protection. She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing too hard, her tears wetting his skin as she buried her head in his neck. The nightmares weren’t happening as frequently anymore, but they were still happening. She marveled that he had any patience left. He must be so ready for her to just get over it.

She knew such feelings were irrational. He understood, but she still felt horrible dragging him through this.

At least things were better when she was awake. Though she sometimes still fought with herself over what may be foolishness, she couldn’t help trusting him. Asher was so consistent, so gentle, so powerful. Every cell in her body strained to do his bidding. And each time he saved her from Lucas, Grace felt just a little more grateful, slipping further into her role.

In the few unguarded moments that crept in, she recognized herself as becoming . . . happy? The lingering, occasional nightmare was the only remaining dark cloud over them.

“Grace? Just a dream, baby. I’m here.” The deep rumble of his voice was like a warm blanket wrapping her in comfort. Her body stopped shaking at the sound of it.

“I can’t go back to sleep.”

“I know. Come with me.” Neither of them were clothed and he didn’t go for the closet; he just took her hand in his, and she obediently followed him down the stairs. When they got to the study and he pulled the book halfway out of the bookcase, she shook her head.

“Please . . . don’t.” Why was he doing this? Was she somehow still asleep? She tried to tug her hand out of his grip. In the weeks she’d belonged to him, she’d been surprised he’d never taken her to the dungeon. Asher’s dominance over her had been quiet and gentle.

Even the sex had followed that pattern. A few toys, silk scarves to tie her to the bed frame, a blindfold on occasion after he’d worked her up to it. The blindfold had been harder because she couldn’t see him to remind herself it was him and not Lucas. But he’d talked to her the whole time so she wouldn’t forget who she was with.

It had all been more like vanilla-kink than any of the more hardcore fantasies she’d had before coming to Eleu. And yet . . . with Lucas in her past, even the tame activities had felt reckless and scary at first. The understanding of Asher’s total ownership of her and the mercy he continually showed as he eased her back into pleasure, were things she’d started to take for granted.

And now it seemed it was over. She hated herself for even trying to fight him. He’d been so good to her. So kind. And she thought she had the right to question him or resist? She should be willing to give him anything in return for what he’d taken her out of. No matter what he did, it was unlikely to be as bad as Lucas. She looked up into his eyes, horrified by the disappointment shining out at her.

“I’m sorry, Master. The nightmares, I can’t . . . please . . . please take me back upstairs.” She’d hit the panic point. The trembling, the crying. And yet his erection hadn’t flagged. Her safety was about to shatter. This was the moment. This was why that part of her mind had chided her for being so trusting. She’d always known it would end, that they’d be here and the nightmare would be back, no longer just when she was sleeping.

She was quickly losing the ability to breathe right, barreling toward hyperventilation at an alarming speed.

“Grace, look at me.”

Even the utterance of her name couldn’t call her out of the downward spiral of fear.

“Who do you belong to?” he said, his voice taking on that edge, the one that said he was serious and she’d better listen up. He turned the dial on the heater to warm the room.

She took a shuddering breath. “You, Master,” she whispered.

“It’s time to introduce you to pain.”

Grace closed her eyes. She had to be dreaming still. She’d already been formally introduced to pain and didn’t want to become reacquainted. How could he do this to her? Why would he do this to her? Especially when she was still fresh from a nightmare. She wanted to lash out, ask questions, accuse, but all she could do was beg.

“Master, please . . . please don’t do this to me. You know I can’t take it. You know what I’ve been through.”

“Your nightmares won’t ever be purged until we do this. Until you know what this will be like with me. You’ve known it was coming for a long time. And I told you from the beginning I would do exactly what I wanted with you, that I would have you whenever and however it pleased me.”

She wanted to ask where he got his logic about purging her nightmares. Some pseudo-psychology textbook? “Why do you want to hurt me? I don’t understand.” So stupid, Grace. Trusting him was so f*cking stupid.

“Kitten, do you know the difference between hurt and harm?”

She just stared at him. Because she knew if she opened her mouth she’d lash out. Suddenly she wanted to break free and run from the house. She fantasized about stealing his boat and just drifting off to sea. Why hadn’t she done it before now? She’d had the opportunity. But she’d stayed like a battered wife. Though she hadn’t been battered by Asher, she still didn’t seem to have the self-preservation instincts of a pea.

Why hadn’t she taken the chance at freedom before he’d changed his mind? If she’d spoken quickly enough when he’d made the offer, would he have felt enough pity to follow through rather than taking it back? She’d never know.

“Answer me. That wasn’t rhetorical.”

She wanted to say she knew the difference, but she wasn’t sure she knew his definitions or even if she could separate things out that much in her head anymore, so she said, “No, Master.”

He helped her down the steps into the dungeon, then pointed at the ground where he or William must have set out another cushion. It was hard to go where he’d directed because she’d feel even more vulnerable kneeling. But she moved to where he wanted her.

Asher leaned against the spanking horse, his arms crossed over his chest. “Grace, I will hurt you––”

She cringed at that. To hear him state it so bluntly and without apology caused the rest of her faith to crumble. She never should have trusted him. Not for a single minute. He held all the power. Of course he would use it against her. She’d always known it.

“––but I will never harm you. I will never leave permanent scars on you. I’ll never make you bleed. I’ll never leave you with internal injuries or broken bones. I’ll never torture you or give you more than I know you can handle. Pain will either ultimately be for mutual pleasure or for discipline, but even as discipline it isn’t something you should fear from me. Not the way you’re fearing it.”

She’d known that punishments like writing lines and standing in a corner wouldn’t last and she’d done her best not to break rules or disobey or displease him. When she did, the punishment was immediate. But it hadn’t been physical pain, so far.

“Why can’t it just be for punishment?” She was already making vows and promises in her head to never displease him enough to warrant physical punishment. If she could get him to agree to restrict the pain to punishment, maybe she could find some way to be perfect and never mess up, to never have to feel the sting of the whip or anything else ever again.

“Because I like it.” His gaze was level on her when he said it.

Despair at the hopelessness of the situation caused the tears to finally start sliding down her cheeks. “But what about me?”

He pushed himself off the spanking horse and moved a few steps toward her, until he was within touching distance. “What about you? I care for you. I protect you. I provide for you. But never forget that you are mine. The choices I make for you are made with your ultimate well-being in mind, but also with my desires in mind.”

She didn’t say anything, just looked at the stone floor and his bare feet.

“Kitten, what happens in the dreams now?”

She’d told him all this before, why did he want to hear it again? Why was he tormenting her? “He makes me hurt. He hits me.”

“Is that all he does?”

“Yes.”

“And what did he do before in the dreams . . . when you first had them?”

“Please . . . ”

“Tell me,” Asher demanded.

“You already know.”

“And I want to hear it again.”

“He hurt me, and raped me, and let the dog . . . ” she trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

“But now he just physically hurts you?”

“Yes, Master.”

He sat beside her and pulled her against his chest. She sagged into his warmth, even though she didn’t want to. He’d become as frightening to her again as he’d been the first day when he’d taken her out of Lucas’s dungeon. When she’d thought she’d die at his hands.

“Grace, I don’t think these nightmares are just about Lucas. I think it’s about your lingering fear of what might happen with me. The fear that you aren’t really safe yet. Once we got through the sex, and you started trusting me there, that aspect of the nightmares disappeared. We have to do pain now so we can kill him off completely. Trust me.”

She wanted to, but she couldn’t. It was asking far too much. Even if years passed in his care it would be asking too much. Part of her wanted to do whatever he wanted, but she wasn’t sure if she could make herself willingly accept what was about to happen. And then what? Would it turn into a punishment? Wouldn’t that be worse?

He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, be a good girl for me.”

“What if I have a flashback?”

“We’ll work through it and go slow. Believe me, it will be different. You’ll know exactly who you’re with.”

He had to half drag her to the spanking horse anyway; she just couldn’t make her feet move and was grateful he seemed to understand. “Straddle it, kitten, and lie on your stomach for me.”

She mounted the black, vinyl-padded bench, and Asher adjusted the section her knees would rest on. The part she straddled and lay across was long and not too wide, so that her breasts pressed over the sides. She tensed when he strapped her ankles and wrists to the lower bench.

“Shhhh,” he said, his hand running the length of her back and dipping between the cleft of her ass. “It’s for your safety, so you don’t inadvertently struggle and hurt yourself.”

The bench pressed tight against her mound, quickly warming from her body heat. He pressed a button and vibrations started. She let out a surprised moan. No spanking horse she’d ever been on, before the island and after, had ever vibrated. She pressed harder against the vinyl.

He chuckled. “I have attachments for penetration, but let’s not overwhelm you today.” She shivered. “Is that a good shiver or a bad shiver?”

It made her feel bizarrely safe that he noticed everything about her. Each nuance of expression, each tremble, each goose bump that popped out over her flesh in response to him. At least he was aware of what was going on, which meant anything delivered by him would be deliberate.

“Good shiver, Master,” she said, blushing. Already he was making her forget her anxiety, and she was almost back to thinking maybe she could trust him. Though Asher was demanding and insistent and never treated her like glass or like she was a special case to him, she’d somehow been okay.

Perhaps it was the utter helplessness of her situation. With no hope of ever gaining her freedom and a master who didn’t seem intent on harming her, her brain had moved quickly into Stockholm mode and along the path to acceptance. Somehow she was able to tolerate and even love his touch: his hands, tongue, and cock on her and inside her.

Her submissive instincts had answered his every demand, as if the two of them together created a perfectly choreographed dance. Of course he would make this tolerable as well. But then, the hitting hadn’t started yet, so maybe it was a little soon to be making those kinds of judgments.

Her head turned toward the sound of the trunk opening. He seemed to be getting lots of things. Bad shiver. A few tears slipped out along with a little whimper.

“Grace––I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He began methodically placing objects on the table: a flogger, a riding crop, a paddle, a cane. She shut her eyes, unable to deal with a table laid out so much like the one in the dream.

“Please . . . ” She didn’t know what else to put with that sentence, so she just dropped her head back onto the bench. Her begging wouldn’t sway him. The time she’d spent with him had already proven that. If Asher said something was going to happen, it was going to happen. And it was going to happen on his timetable. Very often that certainty brought a measure of comfort and safety. But not this time.

He came to stand beside her, his hand resting on the small of her back. The light pressure and warmth of his skin settled her. Then he moved his hand downward to press across her ass. Her muscles clenched as she waited for him to raise and then drop his hand on her, but his intention wasn’t to spank. He pressed down, causing the vibrations to pound between her legs more strongly.

“Just focus on this. Ignore the rest until you can focus on the rest.”

She nodded, squirming and rubbing herself against the bench.

Then his hand came down on her. She jumped at first at the sensation, but then relaxed again. Instead of calling up memories of Lucas, it made her think of the 24/7 she’d lived in before the island. It had felt like playing, but she remembered their sessions. Her master had warmed her up, not just hitting for the sake of it, but gradually coaxing her body to reinterpret sensation according to his whims. It was the same as what Asher was doing.

He went through each of the spanking implements: the paddle, crop, and flogger. But not the cane. The cane sat untouched as he slowly brought her to the tolerance level he wanted her at.

“You have a higher pain threshold than I was led to believe. That f*cking idiot,” he muttered.

She knew he was speaking of Lucas. Lucas didn’t warm her up. He’d just thrown pain for the sake of pain at her, randomly delivered at the highest intensity right off the bat. He’d had no reason to care about her experience or her body’s ability to take the pain and turn it into something pleasurable. Her cunt had dripped from it anyway, much like it was doing right now.

As Asher brought the pain level up, he moved the power of the vibrations up as well. She no longer felt tethered to the table. No bonds could hold her right now. She was soaring. She bucked like a wild thing, one moment thrusting her ass up at him, her body begging for more of the pain that had started an opiate-like reaction in her brain. The next second she was pulling away, pushing her pelvis against the vibrations so she could come again and again. Each sensation was equally enticing, and she couldn’t stop the fight to have them both.

The tears came in earnest then, a catharsis. Things she’d held onto and kept buried deep inside, places in her soul where Lucas had touched her, which she’d never been able to get clean. All she’d been able to do was repress, bury. Now it all flowed out of her. The blows Asher was landing weren’t even hurting her; she was too deep in, her brain releasing too many pain-diluting chemicals. But it was permission to cry, to let it out in ways she hadn’t given herself permission to until this moment. Asher was right. Somehow she knew the nightmares would go away. Maybe not forever, but each time he could, and most likely would, bring her back here to the dungeon to purge her demons.

A moment later the vibrations stopped. She thought he was finished with her, but then a sharp crack landed on her ass that made her scream and fight to catch her breath. She turned toward him, the fear back in her eyes, but Asher had already laid the cane back on the table.

“Just a taste of punishment, kitten. I don’t want you to think all pain with me is good pain. I don’t want to encourage misbehavior. If you want good pain, all you have to do is ask. Never misbehave for it. I promise I won’t make punishment pleasurable.”

Grace was offended he thought she’d be a brat. Didn’t he understand how grateful she was to be in his care instead of Lucas’s?

He ran his hand lightly over the welt the cane had left. “Now tilt your hips so I can get inside you.”

He left her strapped to the spanking horse while he f*cked her, his hands spanning her waist, making her feel somehow even more vulnerable. He didn’t ask her questions or intrude upon her thoughts as she cried. He must have known the tears weren’t something he needed to ask about. Not pain or hurt . . . relief. For once he let her have the private moment inside her own head.

She didn’t come again, already spent from the spanking horse, and her master didn’t ask her to. He just used her body for his release, no words passing between them. Looking on, a stranger might have thought she was being abused. Unless it was someone like her. Other subs would know; they’d understand a merging was taking place that went far deeper than tab A in slot B.

Grace hadn’t thought she could feel more completely his or that she could love him any more for all he’d done for her, but she’d been wrong. Somehow with Asher, she didn’t feel judged or wrong anymore. Her history was a bad dream and her present wasn’t something she had to feel ashamed for.

After he’d had his fill of her, he unfastened the straps and carried her upstairs to the bedroom. She fell asleep in his arms almost the moment her head touched the pillow and didn’t dream again that night.