Tender Mercies

Five

Asher watched her from across the table as she ate. She was like a little mouse, so afraid and uncertain, as if he would take the food away at any second and scream at her for eating like he’d told her to. She’d been in his care only a couple of hours and already he wanted to kill Lucas.

He’d known the situation was bad from the coarse way her previous master allowed the other men at the showing to talk about his slave without the merest hint of anger, as well as the way he’d handled her and the state she’d been in. Especially those bandages peeking out from under her hair. That had been a dead giveaway.

And yet, having her here in his home, even for such a short period, he was suddenly overwhelmed with the reality and impossible state of the situation. She may never recover. Could he handle owning someone so damaged for the rest of her life or his?

Now that he truly understood how serious the damage was, and he suspected he still didn’t grasp the half of it, he was even more convinced of his responsibility to her. But could either of them be happy that way?

He felt bad for the way he’d had to treat her down in Lucas’s dungeon, but to show even a moment’s weakness would have been disastrous.

Either party had forty-eight hours after the sale to change his mind. If Asher had given the impression he intended to be kind to her, the bastard would have stopped the sale. Lucas’s end game was Grace dead or so broken she couldn’t form a thought she hadn’t been given express permission to think.

Whipping her right before the showing had been done deliberately to attract the type of brutal master he wanted to give her to, someone who would see her small remaining rebellion as an interesting challenge. Lucas could have just killed her, sure. But he liked money too much. If she could end up completely destroyed while his bank account got fatter it was win-win.

It was impossible to imagine how she would survive out in the world and equally impossible to imagine how a slave this broken had a future with any of the other men on the island. Eleu was a hedonist’s paradise, and your average hedonist wasn’t known for his self-sacrifice.

One thing was certain. Asher was going to have to get her on friendly speaking terms with personal pronouns. It made him cringe to hear her speak of herself in the third person as if she were some thing. The entire point of owning a slave, as opposed to a piece of furniture, was that they were a human being with thoughts and feelings and wants and needs. At least to his way of thinking.

He finally put his fork down, having made it through the omelet. The muffin still sat on his plate. “Grace.” Her startled eyes rose to his. She did that every time he said her name, like she just couldn’t believe the word still existed in the English language.

He sighed. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be completely honest with me. I can tell when people are lying.” That was bullshit. He didn’t always know when someone was lying, but it was imperative that she believe it so he could get enough information to know how to proceed with her. He had a feeling some of her fear and uncertainty were partly his fault, however inadvertent that might have been.

She just watched, waiting for the question.

“I haven’t explained much to you yet or given you a lot of rules, and it occurs to me that this free-form way of dealing with you may be causing you added distress because you don’t know what to expect from me. Would it be easier if I laid things out and gave you some ground rules to work with for now?”

Grace looked down at her plate, a tear trickling from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away quickly. If he could just get inside her head, it would be so much easier. He could guess some of it. Perhaps she was asking herself if this was a trick, if she was giving him ammunition to harm her. And he knew after the hell she’d just walked out of that no amount of soothing words would put her mind at ease. It would just take time. Watching her like this broke his heart, and he’d just brought her home. How many days, weeks, months could he go on living with someone with this level of fear toward him? Some fear turned him on, but they were quickly moving past the erotic zone.

No one said atonement, however weak the gesture, would be easy.

“Kitten, answer me. Would you like some structure and rules?”

Her hand was shaking as she put her fork down. “Please, don’t make this slave answer . . .”

He got up and paced, unable to sit still. She flinched, and he hated that, but he needed to think and try to work out what was going on in her head. If he yelled and demanded, sure, she might comply, but she’d be more afraid. Maybe that was okay in the short term. Maybe she needed that firmness. Or maybe she’d lose the last little thread of her mind that was hanging on.

He turned toward her, then. “All right. Clearly this isn’t working.”

An almost manic look came over her. “Please don’t take this slave back, she’s very sorry. She . . .”

He stopped pacing and stared at her. No matter what he did or said she was obviously going to anticipate the worst possible result. Asher crossed the floor and pulled her out of the chair. He gripped her arms, careful not to hurt her, but unable to stop himself from making sure she absolutely understood his meaning.

“I will NEVER give you back to that monster. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Master. This slave . . .”

“Stop.”

She shut her mouth, her eyes filled with a terror he was sorry he had to put there.

“No more third person talk. You are a person, not a car or a desk or a piece of paper. Yes, you’re my property, but you have an identity in there somewhere. I never want to hear you use the phrase: This slave or the word she when referring to yourself. You will use the words I, me, my. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Master.” She was looking away from him now, looking so fragile and breakable that he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her trembling body against him and wrapping his arms around her.

She held herself rigid for what felt like eons. Finally, something inside her seemed to uncurl and her body relaxed against him.

“Are you finished with your breakfast?”

She nodded, and he suspected she didn’t trust her voice to speak. That was okay. The main concern on his mind was taking a look at what was under those bandages to see exactly how bad Lucas’s last whipping had been. Asher took her hand and led her back up to her room.

The closer they got, the more tension seemed to crawl back inside her. He took a deep breath and looked her over when they arrived in the brightly lit room. It was a testament to how bad off she was that he was only now noticing how her erect nipples pushed against the fabric of the strappy, cotton top she’d chosen to wear.

The only reason she wouldn’t wear a bra would be if the straps against her back hurt too much. Perhaps another type of slave, who hadn’t been so utterly broken, would have gone bra-less with a different intention. But Grace didn’t seem to have the presence of mind or even the desire to seduce.

Looking at her now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her. And why should he? He’d paid good money for her. She had no rights except those he chose to give her. If circumstances had been different and he’d been the one to meet her online instead of Lucas, she’d be horny and willing. He knew he wasn’t an unattractive man. But Grace was too scared to want him, and he didn’t know how to move her out of that frightened place and into one where he wouldn’t feel like a monster for taking what was his to take.

He hadn’t thought he’d have a mental war between law and ethics on his hands. It had seemed like a simple enough transaction at the time. He didn’t regret the choice, yet it wasn’t as simple as the fantasy of rescue.

Asher stood back, assessing, trying to figure out how to do this without freaking her out more. Her arms were crossed defensively over her chest, and she was looking at the floor. So quiet. What had she been like before coming to Eleu? How much of her identity had Lucas destroyed forever, and how much could Asher bring back?

“How long did you talk to Lucas online before he convinced you to come here?” he asked. As he’d watched her, he’d become aware of the fact that while he knew how long Lucas had her, he wasn’t aware of the time frame leading up to it.

“A year and six days.” Her voice came out so soft, like a whisper carried by wind. At first he wasn’t sure he’d heard her. It was only after the phrase was fully uttered that his mind was able to process it and feed it back to him as something coherent.

“F*ck,” he said under his breath.

Of course she jumped again. Everything he did made her jump. He wondered if he shouldn’t just give her a few days in the house free from his presence, let William bring her meals and see how that went. But somehow he knew such an action would only heighten her uncertainty. The sooner he could get her into a routine, the better.

“Turn around.”

Her eyes flew to his, questioning if she’d done or said something wrong.

“It’s okay.”

She still hesitated for a moment, but it was a quick moment. He couldn’t calculate how fast she must have flipped through the emotions of fear over what he would do to her when she complied and fear of what he would do to her if she didn’t. And there was no way to soften this or make it easier.

Her golden hair fell in thick curls that ended right above the curve of her hips. He moved behind her and swept it over her shoulder.

“Did he tell you pretty lies online for that year about how your life would be?”

“Yes, Master.”

He could hear the tears in her voice as she forced the words out of her mouth. Of course she must think he was toying with her, but he had to know how bad this was.

“He made you believe you’d have lovely things and live kinkily ever after, didn’t he?”

She hesitated a moment and then said, “Yes, Master.”

Why the hesitation there? At that particular question? “But . . . ?” he said, leading her, hoping she’d reveal the impulse that had made her pause in her answer.

“He said he wouldn’t be an easy master.”

There it was.

“So you believe all this is your fault? Everything he’s done to you? Because he warned you, and you still got on the plane?”

She nodded.

He wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault but it seemed wasted verbiage at this point. She wasn’t going to believe anything he said right now.

He sighed. Before he could talk himself out of it, he did what he’d made her turn around for. He took the edges of the top and lifted and pulled it over her head, tossing the fabric to the floor.

Asher cursed under his breath. Her back was a mess. So many scars that would never go away to erase the memory of Lucas from her. And the new marks. They’d closed but they were still very red, probably quite tender. He winced, thinking of how he’d held her in the kitchen and how part of the reason she’d tensed might have been pain, not just fear.

He was so morbidly transfixed by the awful sight in front of him that he didn’t notice the change in her breathing, the signals that her anxiety had peaked and they were moments away from a scene of epic proportions.

“Please, Master, this slave is sorry . . .”

There had been more she seemed prepared to say in her bid for mercy, but he cut her off. “Grace––what did we say about third person?”

“I . . . I’m sorry,” she corrected.

“Sorry for what?” He had his suspicions over what her litany of apologies was about, but he needed to hear it from her. The more he could get her to tell him directly, the less he had to play mind reader.

“The . . . the scars. You paid money for . . . this sl . . . for me, and I’m marked.” It was a real struggle for her to shed the speech patterns Lucas had no doubt beaten into her. Asher wondered which scars had taught her the lesson he most wanted to undo.

“Then isn’t that my fault? If I wanted you perfect and unmarked, should I not have inspected my potential property before acquiring it?”

She was quiet for a long moment.

“Answer.”

“No, Master.”

“I shouldn’t have?”

“Yes! This sl . . . I don’t know what you want from me. Please don’t hurt her . . . me.” Clearly unable to take the close proximity of the threat, she moved away from him until she was cowering in a corner.

Oh no. He wasn’t having that. “Come here.”

The tick of the wall clock seemed to be the only sound left in the world as she slowly moved back to him. With her top on the floor and no bra underneath, she was bare to his gaze, her hair having slipped behind her during her retreat. If she weren’t so broken, there were a million other things he could think to do with her right now, but he resisted, knowing how important it was to lay this groundwork now.

When she reached him, he stroked the side of her face, trying to calm her and hoping Lucas hadn’t used a similar gesture when playing fake trust-building games with her. “I expect honesty from you. Never a lie. I will never harm you for telling me the truth, no matter how awful you think it is. Do you understand, kitten?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girl.” He helped her back into the top and could see the confusion on her face because he wasn’t touching her. He was pretty confused about it, too. And maybe he should touch her. He certainly was within his rights to. And he’d have to very soon, but not right now.

“I’m going to ease you slowly in, but I am going to train you. And I will be firm. What I won’t be is abusive. Lucas sold you because he couldn’t really own you. He could break you, yes. But you never gave every piece of yourself to him. There are parts of you he could never touch. He said as much when I came for you and was standing out in the hallway. But you will give me everything. You won’t give it because you’re afraid of me. You’ll give it because you’re grateful and because you trust me. I don’t care how long it takes us to get to that point. But we will get there.”

***

Grace was still processing everything he’d said. Part of her wanted to trust every word, but every time one part of her mind tried to let her, another part chastised her for being so stupid and falling into what must be a trap. What would happen to her when she couldn’t give him everything like he’d just said she would?

She’d gone back to looking at the floor because it felt safer than trying to figure out what was going on behind those stormy blue eyes of his. She knew he was watching her, assessing, cataloging, trying to figure something out. She could feel his stare on her.

“Is there someone you’d like to call?”

Her eyes snapped up. “Call?”

He took a cell phone out of his pocket. “Surely you have family or friends back home you’d like to speak to. Someone you miss?”

Why was he doing this? Why was he dangling these carrots? “Please don’t do this . . .” She just wanted him to be however he was going to be. No games. No pretending. If she let herself believe in this and then he took it away . . .

He arched a brow. “Don’t do what? Don’t let you call someone? Don’t be decent? Tell me what you want, in plain speech. I don’t need a title this second. Just tell me exactly what it is that you most want right now.”

She took a breath. “Just be real. This sl . . . I . . . I can’t do this again. I can’t believe in something that isn’t a nightmare only to have it torn away again. Please, please, just be real. Keep me in the dungeon or beat me or whatever it is you want, but don’t pretend to be kind.”

The look he gave her was so far outside her recent experience that she didn’t know how to categorize it, at least not on any face but her own on the few occasions she’d made the mistake of looking at her reflection in Lucas’s dungeon. She shut her eyes tight, to block out the look he gave her.

Grace startled when hands closed around her arms.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She opened her eyes. His expression was fierce, but it didn’t seem angry. Not like what she’d seen that morning when he’d stepped into the dungeon. The thought came over her suddenly that maybe he hadn’t been angry at her at all. Maybe it was something else.

“I am real. This room is real. The breakfast you just ate is real. None of this is a game or a trick. I know you don’t believe that yet, but you will believe it in time. Now do you have someone you want to call?”

“No, Master.”

He let go of her and sat on the sofa. “You have no family or friends?”

“My brother is a drug addict. I worked a lot of hours, so I just had one good friend, Lainey.”

“So call her.”

“She tried to convince me not to come here. I couldn’t . . . I can’t . . .”

He nodded. “You don’t have to explain. I think I understand. How about the Internet? Could you email or instant message her?”

She thought about it. “I think so.”

Asher stood and extended a hand. She tentatively put her hand in his and allowed herself to be led across the hall. His room was opposite from hers in every way. Whereas hers was bright and colorful and inviting, his was dark and intimidating.

The walls were done in rich, dark wood paneling. Heavy drapes blocked the light from the windows. He crossed the floor and pulled the thick fabric back to let the sunlight in. A king-sized bed stood against one wall. The headboard consisted of metal bars, perfect for chaining someone down.

In another life, standing in a room with such an attractive, dominant force of a man, she would have fantasized about him chaining her to the bed and having his wicked way with her. Now the thought scared her. She’d experienced too much real pain and fear to see it as a sexual game anymore. And yet her body still perversely responded.

There was a small desk on one side of the room and a laptop. He sat in the leather, swivel chair and booted up the computer. Then he pulled up a folder. “If your messenger service isn’t one of these, you can go online and download it. I’ll give you some privacy to chat or email. Come join me when you’re finished.”

Giving her privacy didn’t mean leaving the room, only that he wasn’t going to hover over her while she typed. Instead, he propped some pillows against the headboard and turned on a flat-screen television to a sports channel.

He seemed so normal. What if she just tried to believe in him? For a little while. The worst that could happen is he’d take everything away. Maybe she should embrace whatever small kindnesses he offered, then if they ended, she wouldn’t have to berate herself for wasting it all waiting for that other shoe.

Finally, she settled in the chair and searched through the folder to find the link to her messenger service. Lainey worked in a small advertising office that didn’t monitor Internet activity as much as some of the larger firms. She usually kept her messenger on all day.

Grace entered her screen name and password, shocked she could still remember it. She hadn’t been on a full minute when Lainey messaged her.

StrawberryLaine: Grace? Is that you? Are you okay?

She took a deep breath. This was exactly why she couldn’t do this on the phone. The second those words came out of Lainey’s mouth, Grace would have broken down in sobbing fits.

Gracie343: It’s me. I’m fine.

StrawberryLaine: I haven’t heard anything from you for almost a year! I went to the police, and when I told them about the island they thought I was insane. Making it up. They’d never heard of it, of course. And I didn’t know exactly where it was so I couldn’t point them in the right direction. I didn’t know if your plane crashed or you were murdered or . . .

Gracie343: I’m okay.

She stared at the screen for a long time. She’d have to tell her the truth, or some version of it. After all that worrying and mourning, Lainey deserved some answers. Grace waited for more questions or accusations. Maybe she’d been called away for a moment. She was at work after all. Another few minutes passed before Lainey finally replied.

StrawberryLaine: Well, what happened? This better be good. I was so worried. If you just decided to lose track of time and . . .

Gracie343: Lucas was a bad guy. You were right.

StrawberryLaine: Oh. Oh my God. Are you still with him? How did you get to a computer?

Gracie343: He sold me. Asher, my new master, let me use the computer.

StrawberryLaine: Has he hurt you? The new one?

Gracie343: Not yet.

StrawberryLaine: How long have you been with him?

Gracie343: A few hours.

StrawberryLaine: Do you want to come home?

Gracie343: He won’t let me go.

StrawberryLaine: We could find a way . . . The police didn’t believe me before, but I can give them the chat logs.

Gracie343: No.

StrawberryLaine: What do you mean, no?

Gracie343: I’m different, Lainey. I can’t . . . There’s no . . . If Asher is real, maybe this is the best place for me.

StrawberryLaine: What do you mean if he’s real?

Gracie343: Just leave it alone, okay?

StrawberryLaine: I’m sure there’s a way we can track your location just from being on the Internet.

Gracie343: I need to go. I’ll talk to you later if he lets me.

StrawberryLaine: Grace, wait.

StrawberryLaine is typing . . .

She logged out before Lainey could say more. Grace clicked the laptop lid shut and moved over to the bed. She had no idea what he wanted. Stand? Kneel? Get in the bed?

“That didn’t take very long.”

She just stood, staring down at her hands. An awkward silence descended between them, and then he spoke again.

“I know you’ve been abused in every way imaginable and that right now you don’t know if more is coming, but when I do something nice for you, I expect manners. I expect you to say thank you.”

“Thank you, Master.” She looked up when she heard his hand patting the bed. He’d pulled back the covers beside him.

“Undress and get in.”

She couldn’t stop the tears that started to move down her cheeks.

“Grace.”

She looked up.

“I’m not going to harm you, but the sooner we at least partly cross this bridge, the easier things will go. I’ve been thinking while you were on the computer. I don’t know if my way of dealing with this is the best way, considering your history. But it’s the way I’ve decided to proceed. I know perhaps it’s selfish. But I bought you for many reasons. I want a sexual companion. If I were just some guy on the street who wanted to date you, then perhaps this would be evil and insensitive. But I’m not just some guy. I’m your master.”

So maybe he hadn’t bought her just to clean his house or cook his meals. Grace didn’t know how she felt about that, but she did know she was getting stupid. He was patiently waiting. Not yelling or screaming or grabbing her and throwing her down. He was waiting for her to make the choice to come to him. But that only made it harder and made her feel more responsible somehow for whatever happened next. Irrational though that was.

With Lucas there had been none of that. There had been demands and either immediate obedience or swift and painful punishment. Sometimes punishment had included missed meals and sensory deprivation. A few hours away from that, and she was already hesitating because so far hesitating hadn’t earned her pain.

“Don’t force me to punish you on your first day.”

Those words made her blood run cold. So like what Lucas had told her when she’d hesitated for a moment about giving him the ring. Asher was the same. Of course he was the same. Why would she believe he wasn’t the same?

But he hadn’t punished her yet. Maybe he wouldn’t look for imaginary reasons to beat her. If she just gave him whatever he wanted, maybe she could delay punishments for a while. After all, there were differences between them, weren’t there? Lucas had burned away all her memories in the first twenty minutes and locked her in a cell. Asher had given her nice clothes, a warm shower, a good breakfast, and contact with her only friend in the outside world. But Lucas had built her trust for a year online . . .

“Last chance, Grace.”

His voice had gone down a register, sounding almost like it had in Lucas’s dungeon. There was that scary edge that compelled her to obedience. It worked again now as she peeled the clothing off and climbed into bed.

Asher lay back against the pillows. “Straddle me, kitten. I don’t want you on your back until it heals.”

She could feel his erection straining against his pajamas into the space between her legs as she obeyed the order. One of his arms wrapped around her waist, just missing the marks Lucas had left, and the other gently grasped the back of her neck, pulling her to him. When his lips pressed against hers, his tongue demanding entrance into her mouth, she gasped.

Inexplicably, her body responded to him. She could feel the wetness building. After everything that had transpired with Lucas, no part of her should want this. Even though Asher hadn’t hurt her, it was . . . perverse. She couldn’t even tell him no. She didn’t even have the right to tell him no. And if she did, surely he wouldn’t listen. It would be bad. So why did she have to physically stop herself from rubbing against him?

She wasn’t able to contain the tears that started until they became pained sobs. Asher stopped, pulling back from her, and she tensed, waiting for pain to be delivered. How dare she interrupt his sexual experience with her trauma.

“Grace, look at me.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

“Tell me exactly why you’re crying. And don’t be cute about it. I know why, but I want to know exactly why. I need to know everything that triggers you. I need to be completely inside your head. And if you even think about lying to me, I will know.”

She shuddered at that last part. Every time he wanted her to tell him something, he said he would know if she lied. And she believed him. It was too big of a risk not to believe him. And she didn’t know what to do with this because Lucas had never made these kinds of demands. He’d just wanted to use her and wanted her to obey. He couldn’t have cared less what she was thinking. She knew even now that Asher would own her fully because he was willing to make demands to get inside her thoughts, and she was too afraid not to give him everything he wanted to know. If he turned on her, it would be worse than it had been with Lucas.

She took a breath. “This sl . . .” She faltered under the sharp look he gave her. It was so hard to speak about herself in first person with him. He couldn’t begin to imagine how hard. Lainey was the only person with whom it had been easy. But with a man who had complete power over her, it felt foreign and odd. And uncomfortable. “––I mean I . . . I’m wrong. I’m not just broken. I’m wrong. Things that shouldn’t turn me on, turn me on. Even when Lucas punished her . . . me . . . sometimes, I got wet. And now . . . I don’t know you. And I’m . . . responding. It’s wrong.”

He pulled her down against his chest, stroking her hair. “Lucas used your needs against you. But you aren’t wrong. There is nothing wrong with you or how you’re wired. The only thing wrong is how Lucas used it to hurt you. I’m glad your body wants me. It’s okay to just give me your body and your obedience for now. The rest will come in time.”

He slid a hand between her legs to feel her wetness. “This, I can work with.”

She blushed when her hips pressed harder against his probing fingers.

Suddenly Asher wasn’t just theoretically attractive. Though she struggled with an uncountable number of conflicting thoughts and feelings, she couldn’t deny that she did find him appealing, and her body agreed. She was still sure everything would be ripped away and something bad would happen any minute. But for now, for just this one moment, she was so grateful to be feeling something pleasant, that she was willing to surrender to it and try not to think too hard about anything coming after.

Like the sex, what would happen when he was inside her? Was it going to feel like rape? Like Lucas? She squeezed her eyes shut, as if by doing so she could shut out the noise in her brain. At the same time, Asher started stroking the folds of her sex, dipping inside her and using her moisture to massage her already swollen *.

Her breathing came heavier and faster as all those awful thoughts blanked out, and then a minute later, she came. He moved his hand out from between her legs and let her collapse on top of him.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. The yelling in her mind kept getting louder. Was she in trouble for that? He hadn’t given her permission. Lucas almost never let her come, except in circumstances where he felt making her come would be more awful and shameful than not letting her. Surely this wasn’t acceptable. She should have asked. But it had happened so fast, too fast to think.

“It’s been a long time for you, hasn’t it?” he said.

“Yes, Master.”

She didn’t beg this time. Already she was developing a new strategy where Asher was concerned. If he heard her beg every second of every day, he’d become so desensitized to it, that when she actually needed mercy, it wouldn’t penetrate. Maybe it wouldn’t anyway, but if she could hold back and not beg so much, she might have an ace to play later. At least she shouldn’t beg until the moment before he seemed about to do something horrible. Right now they were just laying there, his erection wedged between her legs, hard and large, with only the material of his pajamas barring his entry. And even after the orgasm, she wanted to rub against him.

He was wrong: there was nothing okay about the way she responded to things. Without that weakness, she never would have come to Eleu to begin with. She’d be safe and happy, living a normal life with a normal job in the normal world. Not laying here, helpless to protect herself, hoping her new master could really be decent, that it wasn’t some trick.

She was so exhausted. She was tired from getting such poor sleep and so little nutrition in the dungeon. She was tired from all the fear. She felt like she’d gone non-stop on adrenaline for so long until her ability to produce it had just stopped. She’d been running on fumes, just trying to survive for weeks––if not months. Suddenly everything in her body gave out, and if Asher said anything else, it didn’t slip past the barrier of unconsciousness for her to hear it.