Mercy Me: SAMs & Sinners, #2

By Fallen Kittie

Clark White finds new religion. His Mistress is his church.

The world is his oyster. He beads the pearls of wisdom, culture, and fine dining. His truth is tucked into the comfort of his confines. Wealth is a world of wills and whims that Clark can afford to spare. Bearing the esteem of his empire, he is a man poised by the prison of his profits.

Mistress Vera unlocks his inhibitions. She frees him through a repertoire of restraints. As a priest in training, she earns divine respects. Leading Clark by his collar lets her hone hers. Guidance entails her bible and BDSM. The insight she imparts comes in scripture and her cold crucifix.

But Clark wants more. He wants to share his soul, not just his body. But Vera drowns hope in desire even as she breathes new life into his cuffs. There is no love, she insists. A Mistress is made to command. She sets Clark on fire, but he braves beyond the slow burn.

When all is said and done, he stays in bondage. It makes no difference if Vera releases him. Whether he’s roped in revelations or chafed in chains, he is never free. Love never lets him go.

The white knight is drawn to darkness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fallen Kittie
• Release date: Sep 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516386536

Fallen Kittie

ABOUT FALLEN KITTIE Fallen Kittie is a freelance writer and sociologist currently studying existentialism and supernatural folklore. Her characters are avenues in which she collates her own realities and musings upon sexuality within fiction. Midway into her academic career, she started to consider writing as a means to escape the miscellaneous monotonies of her syllabi. Her escape became story bound illicit intimacies and other imaginings. As she continues writing, she cultivates a preference for erotica over the emptiness of the empirical.   Follow her on Facebook: http://www.fallenkittie.com  

Book preview

Mercy Me

Fallen Kittie

MERCY ME Copyright © 2015 by Fallen Kittie

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For more information, visit www.fallenkittie.com

For my angels:

Asia, Tina, and Sierra

1

Clark 2

On your knees.

The order bounced off the walls, its urgency carried in clipped tones. I fell to its command. Ever since I heard that voice, I ached to appease. Before she walked in, the world revolved around its usual rules and regulations. I was a man of my word, a product of my routines. I was Clark White.

Now, everything spun out of control.

A heavy leathered volume cracked across my cheeks. The voice was more clipped, closer.

I said, on your knees, it hissed in my ear, You know I don’t like repeating myself.

Slowly, I started to descend. My cheeks stung. My ear burned as the voice breathed its next order, Now, tell me: who wears the suit, Clark?

You do, I didn’t think. The words slipped out.

The truth wasn’t enough, "You who? Claws cut into my scalp, You isn’t my name."

Mistress, I amended.

Another crack. Speak in full sentences.

Mistress wears the suit, I groaned.

Then, the voice morphed into its keeper. I let my eyes drift open to admire the vision it, she made. Her breasts bounced along the brim of her corset. The gleam in her eyes flickered as she drank in my submission. What got me most was her collar, a new addition to her wardrobe these days. Her sermons earned her the right to wear it. I hardly saw her without it. Pretty soon, she’d never take it off.

Should I sit on your face? She caught my chin, Or your shoulders? She wasn’t really asking me. She was thinking out loud. Everything came down to her.

Why not both? I couldn’t help offering, leaning, longing to lick her lips. Enjoy the view for Revelation, and I can make you come while you read Corinthians.

We’ll do things my way. She sank to my eye level, In the bedroom. Rolling her eyes, she snapped before I could stand, Crawl.

It took me a second to register what she said, a second too long. Before I knew it, something cold and hard clamped around my neck.

Looks like you need to be collared, she clicked, And led, as usual.

On my hands and knees, I found myself coldly compliant. A stretch of fabric tugged me along as it threaded through her fingers: a leash. Hanging my head as we inched along, I lost myself in her worn floorboards.

That’s good, Clark, she quipped, For a second, I thought I’d have to get rough.

No, she wouldn’t have to get rough. Instinctively, I knew to obey. My Mistress didn’t have to tell me to heel.

Commanding that control, that authority and assurance, my Mistress Vera, would make the perfect priest. I’d never forget the blessed (pun intended) day she drifted into my life—or rather, when she drifted back into my life. It felt like a lifetime ago, back when I’d scurried to supplant my schedules and mused upon the motions.

All that changed when she showed up to my office. It took me a while to recognize her. My old sister—stepsister—turned up to talk me into an investment. It was a loan, she assured. College bills rolled around and she was more than a little short on cash. I couldn’t believe who she was, how she was. If it wasn’t for her voice, its signature squeaks, I would’ve thought she was lying.

Her voice was mangled by a unique health condition ever since we were kids. My mother made sure I knew. When we first met, she never let me forget it. By the time we said our hellos, I was so wound up and my voice was squeaking too. Lucky for me, everyone thought it was more adorable than awkward; especially Vera, who didn’t really grow on me.  Now we’d grown up, she strangled me with her roots.

And I loved it. I loved her. At least, I thought I did. She told me I didn’t, that I wouldn’t. That was the only order I couldn’t obey…and she’d never know it.

Or maybe she did know it. Of all the people I knew, Vera was the most poised, practical, and perceptive. As she sat on her bed, I couldn’t read her smile.

She crossed her legs. I want skin. Take off that suit. But she glared as I started to shrug off my jacket, Did you hear me?

Yes, Mistress, I heard you.

For everything we did, I had to announce my affirmatives. I figured it was safer that way, having me consent to this carnality instead of her gouging my reactions through her instincts. Personally, I thought she liked hearing me call her ‘Mistress’. Every sentence, affirmative or askance, I had to refer to her as ‘Mistress’. I knew the rules. Sometimes, I just liked to break them. Sometimes, I suspected Vera liked that too. She baited me to break the rules when she wasn’t paddling my respects. Whether I was a good boy or misbehaved, it was always amazing.

For me, anyway.

I liked to think the feeling was mutual, but I knew better than to flatter myself. Vera wasn’t like any woman I’d known. I didn’t even really know her. She’d said it a hundred times: we were strangers. No money or masochism could make up for that. There was so much time lost between us. So many words lost too. She couldn’t have really known who I was. She didn’t care to ask. I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t have a right to ask.

I slid off what remained of my suit. Mistress, can I ask you something? Her coolly cocked eyebrow made me remember my manners, Please?

She didn’t smile. Go ahead. Ask me how my day was. Get it all out of the way.

Even if she didn’t know I loved her, she must’ve known I cared. This was another routine I sifted in, our pleasantries and platitudes. The conversation she didn’t much like or return. God, couldn’t we at least be friends? Our lunches and dinners were the only times she gave me a glimpse into her working life and sometimes, bits of her past. Vera hardly talked about herself beyond religion or respectability politics. It was almost like she deflected most questions I asked. Whenever we stumbled onto something remotely personal, she turned the conversation back on me and I’d lose myself trying to unpack my own issues. Even now, I had to wonder why I needed answers.

I tried to keep it together. How was your day? You learn anything new in church?

No, she said, Did you learn anything new at the office?

Kate surprised me for lunch, I shrugged, vying for her reaction, I learned she likes strawberry shortcake.

The girlfriend, Vera chuckled, Sweet Kate.

She’s not my girlfriend, I said, She’s just—

Someone who surprises you for lunch; someone you like buying coffee for; someone you like to talk about every time you see me; someone you like to play up as your girlfriend only to insist she’s anything but.

I—

The irony is that you were the one who swore we should keep things exclusive, she trailed her toes up my chest. You swore you didn’t want anyone else. You said you loved me. Now here you are, talking about your Kate and strawberry shortcake. You learned about her, but did she learn about you? The truth stung as she kicked, Maybe you can teach her a thing or two about wearing the suit. Right, Clark?

She’s not my girlfriend, I insisted.

Neither am I, she yawned, Looks like you’ll have to learn that the hard way.

No, I caught her ankle, I’ve learned enough.

Let go of me, Clark. Her eyes flashed, dark and dangerous. If I disobeyed, there’d be consequences.

But I didn’t let go. Let’s play rough then. Clark White works hard. He deserves to play harder.

Slinging her other leg around my neck, the soles of her feet shoved me off. I was on my back, on the floor, on her shit list. Snarling, she clasped my wrists above my head and clawed her graces. This isn’t a game, Clark. It’s an order.

I had to be at least twice her size. All I had to do was shove her off. I could’ve escaped. But I didn’t want to. Grumbling as she grasped my wrists harder, I shrank beneath her. Whenever it came to pleasing Vera, pride was always an afterthought. So was pain. But I couldn’t really call it pain. I still didn’t know what to call it…

Let’s play rough then, she mimicked, Get up.

Your idea of rough is me carrying you around? I countered coyly, Maybe you can ride me like a horse. It’d make up for lost time, wouldn’t it? All those times I wouldn’t take you to the playground or go to your tea parties—

No, push me off.

What? I paused, Push you off…?

Can’t you? she pinched my cheek, I know you can.

I knew I could too. I just didn’t want to. Or maybe I couldn’t. Vera belonged above me. She was made to rule, not share or negotiate. In that moment, I realized how entitled I was. I couldn’t ever expect her to share her heart with me. No matter how badly I wanted it.

Her fingers flicked my forehead. What’s wrong? Didn’t you hear me?

I…can’t, I cringed.

She started to slap my cheeks. I know you can. Come on, Clark.

My eyes clenched shut. I can’t… I don’t want to…

What’s the matter, Clark? She spat, You wanna play rough, right?

My body felt like lead. For Vera, I wasn’t even a person. I was furniture. Dislodging her did both of us a disservice. As my eyes fluttered open, all I could manage was running my hands up her back.

I strained to smile. Is that it? Your idea of rough is me on top?

Knowingly, she nodded, You talk a good game, Clark. Her lips hovered over mine, But we both know if you’re not on the bottom, you can’t play at all.

†

Keep your life free from love of money and be content with what you have, for he has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’

What about love of others, the love of another? The more Vera read into her religion, the more it sounded like you had to deny your humanity for a duty to the divine. Sins like envy and lust, especially greed, were inevitable. Sins made the world go round. The only way to succeed in this world was to vilify your virtues. You could only afford to hold your head high once you bought your way in. And sin was the only currency.

Considering how badly the martyrs and saints suffered, being a good person or devout didn’t mean anything. I mean, where were they now? What had they died for? All that suffering for what? Being immortalized in an invaluable, imperfect logic that didn’t pan out in today’s pudding? Sins survived their sacrifice. I couldn’t argue that The Bible offered profound insight (at least, it did the way Vera talked about it), but how was it all useful?

The Lord doesn’t set you up to fail, Vera hung behind her bible. At best, this book is just a set of guidelines and cautionary tales. The way I see it, this book was made by men and mankind isn’t foolproof. Men are flawed. God isn’t. That’s what makes a good Protestant: seeing things open to interpretation.

With Vera, I found my religion. My Mistress led me to break new ground. She led me to the light as she drove me to darkness.

2

Matthew 11:28

Kate surprised me for lunch again. But considering how many times she’d dropped in, I couldn’t exactly call it a surprise. I liked how it was always her treat. Having someone else pick up the tab and take care of things was refreshing. Today, she got us sushi.

The entire time she talked, Vera was on my mind.

Kate noticed. What’s with you today? She broke open a packet of soy sauce, You look spaced out.

It’s been a long day, I didn’t exactly lie. Forgive me.

It wasn’t that far from the truth. This morning, I woke up earlier than usual and ended up walking the streets to wrestle with thoughts that kept me awake. After a quick coffee, I wandered to the park. Dodging some sleepy joggers led me to some cab stops, then Vera’s place.

Knowing she was already awake was my only consolation. The wee hours of morning saw early prayers. She had to be up for Mass. I caught her coming back from church, probably to unwind between classes. My body burned as she retrieved her special stool. Our clothes were off in seconds. We’d barely said our hellos.

The rest was history.

This is new, Kate’s hands wandered to a fresh frame on my desk. She didn’t think to ask before she picked it up, Is this her?

Gently, I replaced it back to its spot. Yes, that’s Vera.

Another new edition to my life, another thing I could call my own. Too bad I couldn’t say the same about the person in the picture…

Sorry, Kate flushed, I didn’t mean to—

No, it’s fine.

She admired us. Was this at the church? You two don’t look—

I tried not to roll my eyes. She’s not my real sister. There isn’t going to be a resemblance.

I was going to say, ‘happy’, she giggled. You guys look so serious.

Well, it’s hard not to be when you’re at church, I forced a chuckle. That’s why I stopped going. I have enough ‘fun’ at my office.

She doesn’t look sick. You said she had some disease…?

It’s not serious. Just her voice, it cracks. She squeaks.

Must’ve been tough growing up, she frowned, Kids can be vicious.

I trust that’s one of the things you deal with at your centre? I smiled, Your last campaign was about bullying.

"It was about tolerance, she nudged, Bullying is next month."

I don’t like the sound of that. I couldn’t help shaking my head. "Why waste time preaching tolerance when you could do the same with acceptance. Words like ‘tolerance’ make it sound like you’re relating to bullies. That phrasing gives people cookies and free