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.