Free Mercy by Annabel Joseph Page A

stood thinking how bizarre it was, to be discussing these things in such a businesslike way with him, and then I stopped thinking altogether, because he was walking towards me, starting to strip. The animal way he moved took on a whole new meaning as he revealed his body to me. Each limb, each muscle seemed perfectly formed and proportional, superbly male. His broad chest tapered to muscular hips and thighs and his organ seemed to me the most beautiful cock I’d ever seen. The natural, easy way he walked, even the way his arms swung at his side as he approached resonated in some unconscious part of me.
    “Get down on your knees,” he ordered as he came to stand in front of me, fisting his cock. It was huge and purplish red. “Kneel up straight and keep your eyes on my cock while I speak to you.”
    Not a problem, I thought to myself as I stared. It would be very damn hard to ignore, especially jammed right up by my face as it was.
    “Have you sucked a lot of cocks, Lucy Merritt?”
    “Not very many.”
    “You’ll suck mine a lot, and you’ll swallow my cum . You’ll suck mine like there’s nothing you enjoy more on earth, and you’ll savor my cum like it’s the nectar of the gods. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Open, and keep your hands in your lap. Open wider,” he said as he guided his cock to my mouth, so I did, and without preamble, he shoved it in. I choked and gagged from the shock. “Relax.” His fingers held my head steady. “Get your mouth wet, open your throat for me.”
    I tried, I desperately tried to fellate him, but I was clumsy and hopelessly inept. Tears came to my eyes from all the gagging, but he didn’t withdraw, he just stroked my hair. “It’s okay, don’t give up. It takes practice. You’ll get plenty of it. Just relax and try your best.”
    And actually, it did get a little easier. My mouth filled with saliva, which helped him slide more easily in and out. My throat became used to the steady thrusts, or perhaps numb to them, and I only gagged from his thrusting every few times. He drove me on, firm and encouraging. “It’s okay, you’ll get better. Pay attention. Try.”
    He sighed then, and I felt a bolt of pleasure, that I was somehow moving him with my clumsy attempts. “Be open,” he breathed. “Accept me. You have to learn to be open to me.” He picked up the pace, fucking my mouth, holding my head in his hands. By now, tears of strain were streaming down my face.
    “Now,” he said, “lick my balls. Put your hands on my thighs, put your face right up in there.” I tried my best to do what he asked. I lapped at his balls carefully, lost in new sensations, velvet skin and rough hair tickling my nose. The masculine scent of him permeated my senses, made me feel wild and wanton. “Harder,” he coached, “broad strokes with your tongue. Oh Jesus,” he said, his fingers twining in my hair. “Yes, just like that.”
    Soon afterward, he thrust back into my mouth and came in the back of my throat with a growl. Just as he’d told me to, I swallowed every drop of his cum as if it was the most delicious nectar on earth.
    “Jesus Christ,” he muttered when he finally pulled away from me, whether in frustration or appreciation, I had no idea. He yanked me to my feet and looked down at my wide eyes, my damp cheeks.
    “Are you turned on?” he asked.
    “Yes, sir,” I said breathlessly, and I was.
    “Lie down on your back. Part your legs, put your fingers on your clit.”
    I did, and he knelt down next to me. “Masturbate,” he said. “Don’t be self-conscious. When I tell you, you’re going to come.”
    I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, played with myself nervously.
    “Look at me. Open your eyes,” he snapped. “You’re coming for me, not for yourself.”
    And I remembered then what he’d told me. If I tell you to come and you don’t, I’ll punish you.
    I was going to disappoint him already because I couldn’t do it. I knew that I