Secret Mercy

It happens when we fear there's nothing special about us: we allow our secrets to make us special. With our secrets, we set ourselves apart from the crowd. And when the secrets we're hiding are known by all, or when we realize our misdeeds are so commonplace our secrets aren't even all that remarkable, we set out to make new secrets. They make us feel important, unique. And the more insidious our secrets, the more distinctive we feel.

At nineteen, Mercedes thought she was the only woman of her kind, unparalleled in the civilized world, leading a life of opulent vulgarity. By twenty-three, she'd realized she wasn't the only woman in the world to sleep with a married man.

Nor, even, was she the only young thing to take up with a man in his fifties. It happened all the time. She saw these couples on the street: the girl in a summer dress clinging to the arm of the silver fox in Dockers shorts, forgiving him the hideous black sock-sandal combination.

'But I was in love with Simon,' she repeated to herself, like a mantra meditation. 'That girl with the French manicure and the blue shimmer eye shadow is only after the old guy's money, and he can only get it up for that tight piece of veal.' Cruel, to have these thoughts.

Not that Mercedes thought all that much about Simon anymore.

On some unconfirmed date next spring or maybe summer, she'd be marrying Anwar: young, energetic and distinctly not already married to somebody else. Simon could weave his own twisted way through life, because she was taken. Okay, so maybe Anwar wasn't always the generous, slow-going lover Simon had been, but he would learn. She'd have years to teach him when they were married. Years and years and years...

It wasn't only men who thought about sex every three seconds. And, really, how could anybody survive the wait at the passport office without imagining a lover's hand squeezing her ass as he left a trail of kisses down her neck, pioneering through the buttons of her blouse until his tongue was buried in her bra, searching for those straining buds...

"Mercedes?" It couldn't be that familiar baritone from long ago. "Mercy, I said your name three times. Where were you?"

Was it really him? Her heart leapt in her chest like an ambitious goldfish, and before she knew it, her hand lay there trying to keep it in the bowl. Act casual, stupid! "I was thinking about you, of course, Simon..."

Wrong kind of casual, but Mercedes always was hopeless with deceit. Not because she couldn't deal out total bull. She could if the need arose. Mercedes simply preferred devastating honesty over a honey-glazed pack of lies. And, anyway, it was Simon's mouth she'd been imagining on a self-guided tour of her body.

His pink lips broke into a wide smile. He seemed flustered, but did he ever look good! How many years since they'd...?

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Inside she was shivering like a naked Chihuahua, but Mercedes slipped on her suit of sarcastic armour. "Well, I came in for pancakes, but then I realized this was a passport office, so I figure I'll get my passport renewed instead."

"Me too," he replied under strained laughter.

In the silence that followed, Mercedes weighed her options: go home unscathed to the man she was engaged to marry, or fuck her ex-lover's brains out in the bathroom of a passport office?

"They're calling your number, Mercy," Simon was saying.

"What? Oh. Right." Oh, her old nemesis Doctor Disappointment was back for a visit.

"Will you wait for me?" Simon asked.

Hey, after an extended holiday, it was her good friend Archduke Anticipation! Still, she cocked her head, looked askance. "You still married?"

"Yep," he replied, eyeing his toes.

"Remember how I said five years ago that I was done waiting for you?" Mercy taunted, though her tone didn't betray that she was teasing. She softened a little. "We'll see."

Of course she waited for him. It was Simon, sexy Simon, four-time winner of the lovemaking World Cup.

"Gosh, I'm nervous," he admitted, joining her in the sterile government hallway.

"Gosh? You're such a five-year-old, Simon." She liked saying his name. "I'm getting married, you know."

He stared at the blank wall behind her head. Either he was off in space or he didn't hear her or he was so hurt he couldn't speak. And then he said, "I know."

Removing his glasses, Simon rubbed his eyes. Maybe he was crying. But who was he to be so wounded? He's the one who broke her heart, after all. No way she would feel sorry for him now. No way. Too late.

"Can we speak in private?" he asked.

Mercedes tried to suppress her excitement at the thought of being alone with Simon one more time. "Where?"

Like a lab rat, he looked in every direction for a way out of this government maze. Flustered again, he started walking—storming, more like—down the hallway and up a staircase. Mercedes followed, holding her skirts as she hopped the stairs by twos. Had she ever seen Simon so distressed? His energy was spinning, and she'd been sucked into it like some kind of lust tornado.

Energy conservation. No lights were on when they got to the next floor. It must have fallen into disuse, so Simon burst through the doorway, peeking into every room he passed. He must have found one that pleased him, because he went in. Maneuvering his way around piles of chairs and office furniture, he made his way to the window overlooking Northern Willowdale.

"I don't want you to be offended," he said—an ominous beginning to any conversation—as Mercedes closed the office door. She climbed over a desk to get to him, wanting to throw her legs around his waist, but settling on standing at his knees as he sat on the cooling vent.

"Offended by what?" she asked.

"What would I give to have you back in my life? I've been asking myself that question since we broke up. I'm desperately miserable without you, Mercy. Since you've been gone, I've realized your worth. I've realized what a fool I was to let you slip away, and I've been trying to work up the courage to make you an offer." He gazed at her, wide-eyed, and then shook his head. "Oh, I can't say it. You're going to hate me."

"Why? What's the offer?" She rode her hands along his muscular thighs, wanting him so badly her belly burned with lust.

"I had to ask myself if your value translated into an actual dollar amount and I decided..."

He fished his writing pad and pen from the front pocket of his shirt, scrawling a figure and showing it to her.

"That's it? That's all I'm worth to you?" Mercedes shrieked. "Less than a house? Or a car? Or a really good TV, even?"

Simon's cheeks went deep pink as he explained, "No, this is what I'd be willing to pay you per..."

Holy Crap, he wanted to pay her for sex! He thought she was such an incredible fuck he'd give her cold, hard cash in exchange for something she'd already done a thousand times when they were together.

"Per...?" She waited for him to say the word.

"Oh, this is stupid," Simon said, shaking his head. "You're engaged to this guy and here I'm going to ruin it for you. Forget I said anything."

Mercedes grabbed hold of his wrist as he folded up his notepad. "Are you saying you'd be willing to pay me that much money just to fuck my brains out once in a while?"

"I wouldn't have put it so crassly, but... well... I'd want it to be an ongoing thing, yes." Simon seemed so sheepish saying all this. "God, I hate that I'm asking this of you. I just miss you so much."

"And you're not expecting me to leave Anwar for you, just screw you on the side?" Mercedes confirmed, revelling in the wickedness of a new secret.

"How could I ask anything more?"

The joke was on Simon. Mercedes would have done him for free.

But, hey, if he wanted to throw his filthy money at her, so much the better. 'Today on Jerry Springer, I'm a dirty whore and my fiancé hasn't a clue.' This was bad beyond bad. Big, bad Mercedes...

Running bold hands up the man's firm thighs, she whispered, "We've already wasted so many years."

Mercedes never imagined she'd taste the sweet cherry aroma of Simon's mouth again. And she'd forgotten the power of his tongue, how it snuck between her lips silent as a lamb and in two shakes was roaring like a lion. She fought back, rough and tough against that hot body, running ecstatic hands down his back, squeezing those disappearing traces of love handles. "Not a day goes by that I don't think about sucking your big, beautiful cock."

"Same here," he said with a nervous chuckle. "I mean, you sucking mine."

When Simon stood, turning toward the door, Mercedes clung tight to him. "Where are you going?"

"My butt's cold from sitting on the air conditioner," he replied, leaning against a solid oak desk.

With a smirk, she stood on her toes to kiss him again, his solid shaft throbbing against her abdomen. Oh, the sweet memories of that grateful cock! Mercedes tore into Simon's shorts like hungry cheetah, sliding to her knees on the rough carpet. Her dress kissed the floor like a Christmas tree skirt, and she dug out Simon's hard cock, letting its pink tip gloss her lips with precum. That taste, like nothing else in the world, took her back years. God, she'd missed Simon. You never do get over your first love.

"Could you lick like you used to...?" Simon requested. Mercedes knew just what he meant. Tracing circles around his cockhead with the tip of her tongue, she fondled his balls as she flicked the seam of that soft and sensitive flesh. Simon leapt as he grasped the desk behind him. "Mercy, you're incredible!"

"You get what you pay for," she purred, meeting his gaze straight on as she licked his cock like peppermint stick. The lust in his eyes told her just how incredible she looked, tongue extended to meet his sweet rod. "What now, Simon?"

Usually, Simon would have demurred and not answered at all. As a paying customer, he knew what he wanted. "Suck it, Mercy. Take my cock in your mouth and suck it."

Her pussy throbbed at the string of naughty words, and she wrapped her hands around those tight ass cheeks. She took in Simon's incredible edible cock, running circles around it with her now-professional tongue. What bad behaviour for a girl engaged to somebody else! The very naughtiness of the situation made her core tingle as Simon spoke words she'd never before heard from the shy creature. "I want to fuck your throat, Mercy."

That's one thing he'd never done when they were together, for fear of hurting her. With an erection filling her mouth, all Mercedes could respond with was an eager growl. Christ, he could fuck the hell out of it, make her sputter and gag, and she'd leave this room a happy hooker.

Slowly at first, Simon ran his smooth cock against the silky walls of her mouth. He took her head in his hands, sliding deeper inside. Mercy eased, relaxed to allow him entry. She squeezed his ass, sensing every gentle thrust of his hips as he plunged his beautiful body into her throat.

God, he was big.

How could she handle this wonderful assault, this dive into her oral depths? And as he thrust more forcefully, gripping her hair with his powerful fingers, it felt even better, more intense, more depraved. She was completely submissive, controlled by his whims.

Mercedes knew he was about to come when he started repeating her name endlessly. "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy." With every utterance, Simon rammed her throat and she gripped his fuzzy balls because she knew what that man liked.

Crying her name, tossing back his head, he came in her throat and she took the opportunity to suckle his shrinking cock until his erection dwindled down to nothing. Simon was still petting her hair when she let his dick fall from her lips. God, was she wet.

"I trust my work was satisfactory." A joke, sort of, but something twinged in her belly when she said it.

"Highly," Simon said, pulling up his shorts to find his wallet.

Brushing the carpet indentations from her knees, Mercedes held out her palm like Judy Jetson as Simon counted big bills. Was it possible this financial transaction was even more exhilarating than the throat-fucking? Christ, it wasn't often she saw the value of her sexual self in cold, hard cash.

Tucking the bills into her bra, she leapt over the solid oak desk, making her escape. Simon was calling to her, but she couldn't turn to look at him. She couldn't stay to chat because of the hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Most upsetting of all was the fact that she knew she'd do it again. She'd do it again and again.

After all, she needed a new secret and this was a good one.