The Vow

Mercy took the razor and removed the last bit of stubble the wax had missed. Her vulva was now smooth and soft. Kissable, according to La Femme magazine. Her sex had not been so visible since puberty.

The lips were so naked, Mercy was embarrassed. She was the only one looking, but her face was red and she felt a strong urge to close her legs and shut her eyes.

That was taking modesty much too far, she decided. If there was anything Mercy was really good at, it was neurotic behavior. Mercy's therapist was constantly advising her to break free of her inhibitions.

She had once been thoroughly humiliated because she'd been caught talking to her cat. And it had been the cat who caught her. He was a very judgy cat, with definite opinions regarding women who talk to dumb animals. The inherent contradiction in that view is what had sent her to the therapist in the first place.

She was making definite progress. The secret, as she figured it, was to take each inhibition one at a time, and force herself to do exactly what she was afraid of. She had spent three hours speaking to her cat, reading to him from The Great Gatsby. She had pulled her smartphone out of the drawer it had been in for six months and learned how to use it. She had even stood up to her boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend.

Today, she would tackle this self-conscious discomfort with her own body. She didn't have to work today. No visitors were expected. She would spend the rest of this day completely nude. It was National Nude Day, according to her trivia calendar, so this was a good day for it.

Mercy felt proud about her decision. And the timing was perfect. The apartment was becoming uncomfortably warm. The air conditioning had been struggling for weeks. Today, it had apparently given up entirely. It was as hot as an oven. Reducing the layers would increase the comfort.

And it was a good day to stay inside. The city was being particularly aggressive. There seemed to be a lot of people on the street. And they were making a hell of a lot of noise. Mercy was on the fourth floor, but the shouts and yells were still reaching her. There were also more sirens than usual, uncomfortably close and loud. It almost sounded as if one of the ambulances or police cars had parked in the hallway right outside the apartment. Clearly, this was good time to be indoors.

Which meant it was a perfect day for Mary to get comfortable with her own body. "I just might try masturbation," she said aloud. She would take this day to be her own. No phone, no television, no answering the door.

Mercy spun in circles, enjoying the freedom of being naked in her own space, while avoiding looking at her reflection in the darkened television screen. "Solemn vow," she said to the cat. "I will not put on a single stitch of clothing until midnight at the very earliest."

Mercy jumped in startled alarm as something struck the front door violently. A second thud actually cracked the wood. A glint of metal, shaped suspiciously like a murderer's axe, had poked through the door next to the knob.

Mercy scolded herself for her fanciful imagination, as if there was some special feature that made an ordinary woodworking tool into an axe designed for murderers.

However, she argued, the murderer himself, holding the axe and currently chopping through her front door, might qualify as the special feature.

She was starting to scold herself again for having this silly debate rather than running and screaming, but then the now-weakened front door was kicked in.

It wasn't a murderer after all, but a firefighter. Smoke and flames filled the hallway. One of those sirens had apparently been the hallway smoke alarm. "Oh, this is just perfect," Mercy said, as the firefighter ran toward her.

She suddenly found herself thrown over his shoulder. Mercy was annoyed to feel his hand on her butt, but since he was saving her life, she supposed it was forgivable. He was holding her in place so he wouldn't drop her. The hand on her butt was saving her from falling on her ass.

He kicked open the balcony door and started down the fire escape. The cat, she was relieved to see, was already on his way down. She should probably get around to naming that cat one of these days, she thought.

As she rode the firefighter's shoulder, Mercy started listing the things she needed to tell her therapist. Her decision to shave and wax her pussy, just to see what it looked like. Her decision to stay naked all day in honor of National Nude Day. Her decision to name her cat, now that she'd been feeding him for two years. And probably something about the fire.

She was carried down four flights and then through the crowd of first responders. Mercy was acutely aware that her bald sex was probably visible to anybody who wanted to look. Mercy's face was red with embarrassment. She hated people noticing when she was embarrassed, but she was fairly confident that nobody was looking at her face. Unless, it occurred to her, maybe her pussy was just not attractive. That was a mental journey she thought it best not to take.

The firefighter set her down behind an ambulance. Two EMTs tried to cover her with a blanket, but she refused them. As much as she wanted that blanket, she could not accept. "I made a vow," she told them. "A solemn vow."

"She's in shock," the firefighter said. He was being treated for a leg injury and a burn on his arm. "She doesn't know what she's saying."

"I absolutely know what I'm saying. I am Mercy Alice Watkins. I live at 413 Monroe Avenue, which seems to be burning down right now. Apartment 17. Fourth floor. I am completely in my right mind. If anybody covers me without my consent, I will throw an hysterical fit and then sue you all to bits and pieces. My sort of a boyfriend is kind of a lawyer. He will drag you into court, kicking and screaming, to face my wrath. Probably. Eventually."

The firefighter chuckled. "Quite a threat. Your ex-boyfriend, who is not exactly a lawyer, might get around to suing us one of these days."

"He never officially broke up with me," Mercy said. He'd have to be speaking to her for that to happen.

"Do you live with him?"

"I keep my own apartment," she said. Then she looked up at the burning building. "Kept, I guess."

"Does he keep any belongings at your apartment?"

"Ye-ess," she said doubtfully. He hadn't picked up his things, anyway, but he probably wanted to.

The firefighter looked her up and down, slowly, savouring her nude body. She blushed, but refused to reach for the blanket. "Stop that."

"If you insist on standing there naked, men are going to look at you."

Mercy scowled, but his words were undeniably true. "Shouldn't you be putting that out?" she pointed up at the inferno. She couldn't even make out her apartment behind the curtain of flame. "I just bought cookies. It took me two hours to pick them out. I'd prefer they not be burnt."

"I'm afraid the building is a loss, ma'am. There is nothing we can do there. At this point, we're just trying to keep the fire from spreading. But I'm on the injured list now. I hurt my leg, kicking in your door. If I'm slow, or weak, or clumsy, I become a danger to my crew. I'm stuck here with you for now."

"Stuck," she grumbled. She was totally naked and he hated being around her. Her charms obviously left something to be desired.

"Tell me why your ex would only 'probably' file your lawsuit," the firefighter told her. "And why 'eventually'?" He looked her over once again and gave a low wolf whistle. "If I had a chance to do something for a girl who looks like you, I wouldn't hesitate."

Okay. That was a decent compliment. He deserved a little honesty. "Howard is not entirely happy with me right now. He has some problems."

"If I was in a blazing building, with second degree burns on my arm and splinters of wood embedded in my leg, I would risk my very life to save yours. What kind of problems does Howard have?"

Mercy grinned at his wit. And he had literally saved her life. She gave him the truth. "Howard loves suing people. He would jump at the opportunity to take the fire department to court. But he'll have to wait until he gets out of jail. If he manages to beat the charges. And he'll need to get his law license back. And if he stops blaming me for the mess."

"You got your boyfriend arrested and disbarred?"

"No," Mercy corrected him. "I might have informed Aaron Cormichael that his grandmother's will was a forgery. And perhaps I called the DA and mentioned that my boyfriend had a secret bank account and a passport in a different name. But he committed those acts. I didn't. He got himself arrested and disbarred."

"You're the secret weapon," the firefighter said in awe. "You brought down Howard Grimaldi."

"He brought himself down."

"He's the most notorious attorney in the city. His fingers were in every corrupt act for the past twenty years. Every organized crime figure in the country has him on speed dial." The firefighter looked at the raging fire. "You said he left some things at your apartment? What kind of things?"

Mercy shrugged. "Clothes. Grooming stuff. 22 flash drives hidden in a box of cereal."

"Somebody's destroying evidence."

She nodded. "Someone's trying."

"Trying? Not succeeding?"

"It's possible that I made some copies of the flash drives."

"Grimaldi probably has dirt on hundreds of very bad people. You're in a lot of danger," the firefighter observed.

Mercy frowned. "I suppose that could be true. But it's temporary."

"How do you figure?"

"A reporter at the Times might have been given a copy of the flash drives. A reporter at the Journal could conceivably be in possession of another. It is likely that the FBI and DEA have copies. By tomorrow, maybe the next day, everyone will know what's on those drives. Hurting me won't make any difference. They would only make it worse for themselves."

"You need to go into hiding in the meantime. Is there anyplace you can go where nobody could find you?"

"I'm not very social," she admitted. "I don't know where any of my friends live."

"Could you call or text them?"

"Good idea. Maybe you could get my phone for me? I think I left it in the bathroom."

He looked up at the blaze and sighed. "Do you have a car?"

"I do! It's a purple Honda. It's in the underground garage beneath my apartment building. The keys are in my purse. It's on my kitchen counter. Could you pop up and grab it?"

"This is looking pretty bad."

"I'm pretty much wearing everything I own," Mercy said.

"Well, I like your fashion sense. But I think you're in a lot of trouble."

"I'll be fine," Mercy said, waving her hand at him in dismissal. "Just go do what you need to do. It's a big city. I'll wander around for awhile. I'll figure something out."

"You're butt-ass naked on 34th Street. Blending in is not gonna happen."

"I am pretending nobody notices I'm naked. It's rude of you to remind me."

"Lady, you need a therapist."

"I have a therapist," Mercy informed him. "She tells me it's important to set goals and, more importantly, to see them through. Today's goal was to stay naked until midnight. I did expect a bit more privacy than standing on the street at whatever time o'clock it is, but the whole point of setting goals is to not let adversity or obstacles stop you."

"I don't think I've ever rescued the same person twice before," the firefighter mused.

"Hey!" Mercy yelled indignantly. His hand was on her butt again and she was once more draped over his shoulder. He wasn't even wearing the gloves anymore. He'd taken off the coat, helmet, gloves, and heavy trousers so the EMTs could treat his arm and leg. He was dressed in cargo shorts and a t-shirt and his bare hand was on her naked ass.

Mercy fumed as she dangled from his shoulder, but there was little she could do about it. Upside down, it was hard to be certain, but it seemed as though the firefighter had a pretty nice ass of his own. She tried not to think about it, but it was right there in front of her face.

To distract herself, she carefully pulled his wallet from his back pocket. She'd look at that instead. His name was Benjamin Webster. No photos of kids or a wife, but some men weren't sentimental. Maybe he had a girlfriend.

"Benjamin, what is your girlfriend's name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I should apologize to her," Mercy explained.

"What the hell for?"

"You're touching my butt. It's possible I'm starting to enjoy it."

"No girlfriend." He set her down on the back of a motorcycle. "I don't have a helmet that will fit you, but if the police stop us, I suspect that won't be their top priority."

"Are we stealing this?"

"No. Give me my wallet. I was off-duty when I heard about the fire. I came on my own bike and put on some gear when I arrived."

"They just happened to have extra gear on hand?" she asked skeptically.

"Of course," Benjamin assured her. "Firefighters look out for one another. Off-duty firefighters regularly show up when there is a fire. There is always extra gear kept on the trucks."

"Your last name starts with a 'W'," she remarked as he climbed on the bike in front of her.

"You are correct. Well spotted."

"So does mine. If we got married, my initials would stay the same."

He shook his head and started the engine. Further conversation was impossible. As they pulled into traffic, Mercy was very conscious of the other drivers on the road. She held on tight to Benjamin and pressed her face to his back to avoid looking around, but she knew people were staring at her ass. There was an inordinate amount of honking, and she was sure it had something to do with her being naked at 40 miles an hour.

She peeked out once and saw several expressions of admiration, shock, and anger looking back at her. Shutting her eyes tightly, she wondered if her therapist was in one of those cars.

The sunlight was hot on her back. Mercy hoped she'd get a tan. She worried about getting a sunburn, though. But they weren't in the sun long enough for either. The motorcycle slowed after just a few miles and the light disappeared.

She risked opening her eyes and found they were in a parking garage. Benjamin pulled up to a motorcycle area and killed the engine.

He helped her dismount. "This is the Carlton Hotel. I'm going to get you a room, ok?" Mercy nodded.

"If we got married, would you want me to take your name?" she asked.

"Are we still on that subject? Does this matter right now? Keep your damn name. I'm trying to save your life."

Mercy frowned at him, but she hid between two cars when he told her to. "Try to stay out of sight while I get the room."

He entered the hotel. Mercy was alone. For the first time since she'd made her vow, there was nobody nearby. She was naked in a parking garage in the middle of the city, at the mercy of a rude firefighter, but for the moment, she was alone.

An uncomfortable thought came into her head. She didn't want to masturbate in front of Benjamin. But once she was in a hotel room, he would probably try to stay and protect her. She wouldn't be alone anymore. And he might hear her if she hid in the bathroom to do it. The thought was mortifying.

That meant she had to masturbate now, while she had the chance. It hadn't quite been a part of her solemn vow, but she had intended to try it out while she was so conveniently naked. The intervening events and current situation did not alleviate her responsibility to herself.

Mercy carefully lay down on the concrete. She scooched in close to a Toyota so she could share the parking curb. It made for an overly firm pillow but was more comfortable than lying flat.

She wasn't sure how this was supposed to go, but she started by cupping her breasts. Men often played with her breasts, and according to the things she read, women usually loved that. But it wasn't doing much for her.

Maybe it only felt good when a man did it. She didn't seem to be enjoying this very much. Mercy was slightly embarrassed at touching herself like this, but that was part of the inhibition she was trying to get past.

Perhaps the presence of a male was required to trigger the pleasure in females when their breasts were touched. But that didn't make sense, Mercy told herself. There were lesbians out there. As far as she was aware, they enjoyed touching each other. Her friend Jill was a lesbian. If she could get up the courage, maybe Mary could ask Jill to touch her breasts and see how that felt.

The mere thought of that had an effect. Her own fingers suddenly felt a lot better when she imagined they were Jill's fingers. She started stroking her breasts and that felt good too. Mercy didn't think she was a lesbian, but the thought of lesbian touches had turned her on.

Perhaps her own thoughts were the trigger, and the idea of somebody else touching her. Mercy experimented by imagining Benjamin's fingers caressing her. She closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure at the result.

But they weren't breasts. Benjamin did not have her catalog of hangups. He probably didn't use a wimpy word like 'breasts' when he was seducing a woman. "'Tits'," she decided. "That's what he would say. "'Tits' and 'pussy'."

Mercy moved one hand down between her legs. Her clitoris was suddenly very sensitive. Or so it seemed. She never actually touched herself here. There was always tissue paper or a pad or a washcloth as a barrier. Now she explored.

She liked it better without the hair. It was less intimidating. Her pubic hair, when she had dared to sneak a peek at it, had always reminded her of her father's beard. Combined with her father's strict opinions regarding the value and role of females, that part of her body had always seemed fraught with disapproval. The beard was gone now. Her father was no longer between her legs. Her sex was newly born. Mercy should get to know her.

The soft skin felt good under her fingers. And her fingers felt good, stroking that softness. The lips parted easily as she rubbed them. And they were wet. Moisture was leaking out from between them. She knew what that meant. She had succeeded in turning herself on. She was genuinely aroused. The wetness was her body preparing for a penis to penetrate. Mercy spread that welcoming oil around her sex, circling her clitoris and enjoying the zing of that lovely sensation.

It used to offend her. The very idea that her body was designed to accommodate a man's penis and would even lubricate to make his occupation easier to accomplish. Mercy had reluctantly done her duty by her boyfriends, but the annoyance had always prevented arousal. Sex had always been more discomfort and duty than anything else. She was starting to reconsider that position.

Mercy wondered if perhaps Benjamin would want to penetrate her. Not that she was going to invite him. But it was exciting to think about. Had he maybe thought about sticking his penis in her vagina?

"No," she corrected herself, testing the ease of penetration with one finger. "He would say 'cock' or 'dick'. And he would stick it in my pussy. Maybe my cunt."

She pushed the finger into herself. Never before had she touched herself inside. She liked the feeling. Soft, but snug. Like getting hugged. While she plumbed her own depths, she tried rubbing her clitoris with her thumb.

"Hoo boy!" she cried, sitting up in alarm. A little too intense. Mercy opened her eyes to see if anybody had heard her. It didn't seem like anyone was coming to investigate. The parking garage was quiet. There were traffic noises, but they were yards away, on the other side of a wall.

Mercy lay back, shut her eyes, and tried again, lightly stroking the side of her clitoris as she fingered her pussy. It felt better on the side. She imagined Benjamin above her, in his firefighter's coat and helmet. It might be rude to imagine him naked and she wasn't brave enough to do so anyway. But she could imagine his rough voice speaking to her as she masturbated. "I want to put my cock in your pussy. Cock in your pussy. Cock in your pussy."