The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 19

Mercy Fuck

by Bernice Jacobs

Mercy spent countless hours combing her tangled hair. She didn't do it because she enjoyed it, she felt like she needed to, like a surgeon sewing a cut, or a dermatologist erasing a scar.

For Mercy, maintaining her appearance was a societal requirement for a woman, especially for young professional women like herself. Despite this, she reluctantly carried out the process of beautifying herself with a sense of duty over any feeling of delight, like a prison guard carrying out an execution.

No matter how nice her newly applied gelled manicured nails looked, Mercy equated her life to that of a prisoners'. She felt like a slave to all the ridiculous demands burdening her delicate shoulders and tiring her well moisturized hands.

Mercy credited her voluptuous curves to all of her promotions, having very little respect for men as most of them typically ignored the vast intellect, neglecting it like an orphan or an unwanted step-child. Mercy reached her boiling point, tired of playing by the hypocritical norms ruling the male dominated world. She wouldn't take it anymore, pledging to rebel against it all.

Mercy had only been in love once, but it was extremely brief and every man she'd been with since him was always myopically concerned with getting his, having no concern for ensuring she was satisfied while gazing at her with their celebratory smiles of satisfaction, beaming like sun rays just before rolling their lazy bodies out of her bed and making their way to the door.

Mercy's breaking point splintered like an old brittle stick in the last few days. Now, she was determined to live her life by her rules, as ruthless as they were, taking another big swig of the well-aged whiskey from the flask she received after becoming the youngest attorney in her firm in its hundred year history.

Determined to side-step the naive expectations of the modern era, she was ready to let go of all inhibition, giving herself permission to be as reckless as she needed to be in order to treat men like objects of pleasure and nothing more.

Running her fingers through her hair, deliberately tussling it into chaos, her dress swaying in the frosty weather, she briskly proceeded towards the Elite High-Class Bullet Train. Only people with a great deal of money, or a company that sponsored seats, could afford to ride it.

Mercy, for the first time in her young life, was determined to impulsively pursue her personal pleasure whatever the risk. Taking another giant swig from her silver plated flask, while taking her first step onto the train, she allowed herself to enjoy the burn it caused as it tumbled down her throat.

For most of Mercy's life, her time was strictly devoted to achieving success in her field. She was never great at getting close to people and always felt like an outsider.

It took a long time before Mercy could bring herself to get close to someone. Only one time in her life had she ever met a man that she felt close to right away, but that was a long time ago. She tried not to think about it, especially not tonight.

The next few steps she took on the train, Mercy grew excited at the thought of acting out spontaneously, convinced this was the only way she'd be able to break free of the grueling loneliness and misery she'd been spiraling down recently, and she took another drink to celebrate such an optimistic prospect.

Walking toward the section of seats that were open to anyone who pays per ride, different than the section of seats reserved for her massive firm, hoping that this small act might help push her towards more spontaneous and unpredictable situations to act on.

Staring at the seat she usually sat in when she rode the train, she took another few drinks from her flask. A few moments later, a corpulent woman she didn't recognize suspiciously looked around, and then deposited herself in it.

“Pathetic wench,” Mercy whispered under her breath much too quiet for anyone else to hear, laughing as she did. She took another swig of whiskey as she began wondering if she felt as unhappy on the inside as the heavy woman taking her usual seat looked on the outside.

The train began moving quickly, shooting along the track with great force. Mercy loved riding this extremely exclusive train, filled with only the best and the brightest people her massive city had to offer. This social separation helped her feel important, somehow, making the ride to and from work the best part of her day.

Continuing to take a few more drinks from her large flask, a man's voice abruptly resonated, as if it was from the male lead of a classic romantic movie. Sitting alone in her comfortable booth, Mercy closed her eyes slowly, pressing her weary forehead against the cold window pane.

Without realizing what she was doing, Mercy began running her soft hand under her dress rerunning the memory of the man's sexy voice in her head, while her fingers slid smoothly towards her warm slit.

Too caught up in herself to notice, the man with the classically romantic voice sat down next to her. Feeling her seat sink as he sat down, she opened her eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see him, as if she'd somehow summoned him by fantasizing about him touching her.

Moving her fingers with more intensity, she caused them to dance around her pussy, concentrating hard to resist the temptation of allowing her body to buck out of control as she began enjoying herself more than she'd anticipated.

The man's hand carelessly drifted against her exposed knee, causing Mercy to instinctively jerk away, even though she secretly hoped it hadn't been an accident, wanting nothing more than for him to take her in his willing arms and place her on top of him so she could ride him like a wild bronco. The man, however, just continued ignoring her.

Opening his lid of freshly brewed coffee, the cup indicating he'd purchased it from the dining car, the aroma ran through Mercy's veins like a soothing drug. Discreetly watching over the man, she began wondering what he did for a living, not recognizing him as a politician or from the number of trade magazines she perused from time to time.

The man, continuing to act as if he was unaware of her caused Mercy to turn away from him completely, catching a reflection of her pretty face in the window. Her lips were bright red, her hair was freshly tousled.

If my hair was combed, Mercy began thinking, I'd probably be good enough for him to pay attention to me. If I looked together, he'd probably find me worth talking to, someone worth pursuing even.

What an asshole, Mercy continued thinking illogically. Mercy, buzzing off of good whiskey, felt insulted as if the man's actions were nothing more than an example of the man's absurd rules governing the world, desperately wanting to find a man who found her beautiful in every moment of every day regardless of how messy her hair looked.

This shit's so one sided, Mercy continued thinking, opening up the lid of her flask, sending a number of gulps directly down, without any concern of the man's judgment sitting next to her.

Mercy wanted a new life, she continued realizing. My curves and my beauty, coupled with my brain, are far too much of a goddamn rare commodity in this screwed up backwards world, Mercy began mentally ranting. I should be able to have everything I want, whenever the hell I want it, she continued thinking, intentionally pulling her dress down to expose the top of her breasts a great deal more.

Closing the lid of her flask, she went back to touching herself, ignoring the man sitting next to her, despite slowly moving her other hand towards his leg until it was only a centimeter from him. I should run my finger nails up his leg, Mercy thought, he'd be all over me then I bet. I should run them straight up his crotch and wrap them around his man parts, forcing every drop of his blood rushing towards it.

Tilting her head down, she gazed at the sheer array of colors painting her dress. The beauty of it turned her on even more, and her fingers began gently whisking against her pink pussy lips.

My dress alone should be enough to make any man hard, Mercy continued thinking, while slyly peering out the corner of her eye, noticing the man next to her blatantly staring at her partially exposed breasts, unaware of what she was discreetly doing under the coat she cleverly draped herself in for the modicum of privacy it provided.

The excitement of the moment, however, sent shivers of electricity up and down her spine, energizing her fingers like never before. At only twenty-six years old, Mercy usually felt decades older with the sheer amount of responsibility her professional life burdened her with, but as she began pressing the tip of her middle finger into her pink hole, she finally felt her age again.

I should be on every man's short list of who he wants to fuck, she began thinking becoming more and more aroused as she did.

Men should be killing each other to eat me out every night, especially with as fit as I keep myself, she continued thinking.

With her free hand still resting next to the gentleman's leg, his perverted eye's burning a hole in her chest, she could tell how bad he wanted to pluck her nipples with his firm fingers. She knew how desperate he was to play with her breasts, his arousal beginning to show in the bulge growing in his pants.

As Mercy continued subtly watching the man's facial expression grow more and more intense, she could tell he wanted to throw his face under her colorful dress and cup her pussy in his mouth.

Mercy continued circling her sensitive clit with the tips of her two fingers, but as the excitement grew she pushed them both into her moist pink hole and couldn't stop herself from letting out an airy sigh of satisfaction, loud enough that the man sitting next to her was sure to recognize what she was so excited about.

Mercy was aware that her light outburst probably wasn't heard by anyone other than the man sitting next to her, but she was sure the man sitting next to her heard it as he proudly smiled with great joy at his discovery.

In response, Mercy moved her free hand intentionally across the top of the man's thigh, skipping her fingers to his crotch as she softly squeezed his stiff penis as if she was giving it a handshake. Feeling his balls throb against her finger tips, she pushed her two fingers back into her insatiable pink pussy, as deep as they'd go.

“That's it bitch,” the man's silky voice quietly let out, before releasing a moan as Mercy squeezed his dick hard before quickly recoiling it, causing the man to pop up on to his feet like a rocket, as his steaming coffee splashed down across his blood filled genitals, while the cup crashed down atop his expensive shoes.

“Serves you right, pervert!” Mercy shouted. “Now don't try touching me again, asshole!” Mercy yelled even louder, angry at the man for calling her a 'bitch' so brazenly, finding enough satisfaction in his coffee covered cock to smile with joy, while commanding him to “find another seat,” ordering him around like a new employee back in her office.

His crotch was soaking wet. As he walked back into the aisle, his hard erect penis was visible through his thin dress pants to every onlooker, his manliness falling under the scrutiny of every judging eye, all of which convicting him of being guilty as a sexual predator before he exited the train car in dishonor.

“Wasn't that Michael T. Cone?” A woman's voice piped up.

“Who?” a man's voice asked.

“You know, the property tycoon,” the woman answered.

“Yeah it was!” a different person said, amidst a large number of people grunting and making noises people make when they disapprove of something.

“Well, I don't give a shit how much property that asshole owns,” a man stood up, “he doesn't own people!” The handsome man, stoically stood while shaking his head in disbelief, and with his strong chin directed towards her, his stony eyes filled with concern made contact with hers where he lipped her a question through his crooked grin, “are you okay?”

Mercy, ignoring the emotions his concern sent rushing through her, delicately stood up. She took a great amount of care stepping over Michael T. Cone's spilled coffee as she made her way into the aisle.

Walking to the opposite door that Michael T. Cone exited from, she opened the door leading to another train car. Looking over shoulder before exiting the train car, she winked at the handsome man with stony eyes, as if to thank him for her concern and she took her leave.

The train increased its speed, briskly soaring along its long iron tracks, jolting Mercy a bit as she entered the new train car. Before visually inspecting the open seating area for an available place to sit, her hand reached into her purse for her flask again, downing another sip before discovering there weren't any empty booths.

At first,Mercy wasn't interested in sharing a seat with anyone, preferring to be alone with herself to avoid another scene. Walking through the center aisle as if a sea of suits and pant skirts were magically parted before her, Mercy didn't notice a single man looking directly at her, although it wasn't hard for her to notice that all of them were slyly spying her magnificent legs as she pressed each of her heals against the floor of the car.

Spineless tools, Mercy thought, desperately desiring to find an isolated seat where she could curl up with her flask of whiskey and touch herself in peace.

Mercy made it a habit of looking through other women, enough that she no longer noticed their judgmental eyes, despite knowing that they all wanted the same freedom that men had as she did. The freedom to fuck a hard cock and walk away without caring to ask him his name, let alone his number. Still, that didn't stop any of them from condemning any woman who dare tried.

Tired of being sad, Mercy felt devoted to living out a life of pleasure. I have to try it at least, Mercy thought to herself, as a tiny smile broke free from the corner of her perfect mouth, excited that she might finally find a sliver of happiness in this male dominated world.

Being beautiful, Mercy thought while still slowly strolling through the long train car, had its definite advantages. She stretched her legs out longer than she normally would with each stride, causing a row of men to nonchalantly place their hands over their faces to keep their chins from collapsing to their feet.

Mercy angled the line of her thin neck so her light brown eyes could pierce through the sea of gray garments, all of which were lazily draping the other passengers sitting in the train car, as if she was a bull plotting out its charge. Mercy was carefully trying to locate a quiet isolated spot to rub her tiny nipples and give her tan breasts a nice squeeze. That's the only thing that was on her mind.

Without having any luck with finding an empty seat, she peered over her shoulder noticing three men staring directly at her tight curvy bottom, and she briefly began wondering if any of the successful looking gentleman would ever think about giving her brain as much attention as they were giving her ass.

“Not one,” she quietly whispered to herself. “They'd want their cocks sucked for sure, but not one..” and she trailed off with a giggle upon realizing she was thinking out loud instead of quietly in her head.

Mercy's turned her head down ever so slightly, catching the eyes of a woman sitting a few feet away who was giving her a condescending look and Mercy instantly realized she'd most likely heard what she just said.

As Mercy took another step towards the woman she looked straight into her eyes and lipped the word “bitch,” without making a sound. Shock manifested on the woman's face as if she was in the initial stages of having a stroke, and she closed her tormented and judgmental eyes as Mercy continued walking past her.

Instead of perusing the train car any longer, Mercy decided to push on through to the next train car and look for an open seat there. Reaching the door connecting the train cars, Mercy slid it open and stepped through to the next car, as if doing so held the promise to a new beginning and smile slowly began forming over her face.

The new train car Mercy entered was sparsely populated and she immediately spotted a vacant booth on the other end of the train car located, in the open seating section. Walking towards it, the three sparkling gold bracelets dangling on her forearm lightly collided against one another making her sound like a wind chime, alerting every conscious man of her approach.

When she reached her seat, Mercy pulled her coat over her body and took another swig from her flask, and then immediately began running her soft fingers under her dark golden bra just as the whiskey began warming the blood flowing through her.

Rubbing the outside of her beautiful big breasts, Mercy lightly clamped two of her fingers around one of her nipples, as if she was trapping something precious with no intention of letting go. Turning her exquisitely shaped face towards the window, Mercy began rubbing her waxy pink pussy as gently as she could mange, curling her lips as she thought of the hard cock pressing against the fresh coffee stain in Michael T. Cone's dress pants.

Mercy found a great deal of satisfaction in knowing that such a powerful man was so easily turned on at the mere sight of the top of her beautiful round breasts. It was big, Mercy continued thinking about Michael T. Cone's cock, and she began wondering whether or not she'd even be able to fit it all in her mouth if she tried.

Smooth sailing, the super fast bullet train continued coasting over the metallic tracks, casually shuffling her muscular round booty back and forth while she began to slowly ride the two stiffened fingers she began angling up inside of her.

Too caught up in what she was doing, it took Mercy a few moments before she recognized the gentleman in an expensive Italian suit standing in the aisle gazing at her. One of his hands was on the sliding door, as if he was about to pass through on to the next car, but seeing her face caught up in such elation forced him to stop dead in his tracks.

Mercy's eyes were closed, when the man first noticed her and as she slowly opened them up, there he was witnessing her trembling lips, and her legs begin quivering as if she was having a pleasurable seizure, her two determined fingers gently massaging her spot.

“Oh ggggggod,” Mercy sighed quietly out of complete physical satisfaction, calmly staring up into the eyes of the beautiful light brown haired man watching her from the aisle. The feeling felt too good to let anything, or anyone, rob Mercy of it.

Mercy was intrigued by his brazenness, wondering if he was worthy of her sexual desires or not. Under normal circumstances, finding a man staring at her while she was pleasing herself would creep her out, Mercy thought, but this was hardly normal circumstances.

Mercy was fairly sure the man knew what she was doing to herself under the concealment of her coat, and when she looked into his eyes again she realized she was right about her initial assumption. Neither of them said a word, but his eyes revealed that there was absolutely no mystery to him about what he'd just witnessed.

For a moment, Mercy stopped touching herself, looking back at the man with curiosity while he continued looking at her with his empty motionless face. Maybe he wants to watch me, Mercy continued thinking, maybe it's turning him on.

Before Mercy began touching herself again, she quickly thought about how she didn't need another guy who was only interested in pleasing himself, without any concern to helping her get off. She wanted a man who respected her enough to work towards her pleasure as well, and as handsome and successful as the mysterious man appeared at first glance, she hoped he was just the type of man she was looking for.

The two continued staring at each other, neither of them making a move or indicating what they desired from the other. Mercy, still quite tipsy from the disappearing contents within her flask, began slowly growing angry at the man for not doing anything but staring at her.

Is this guy just a perverted fucking prick, Mercy began wondering? Is he just another man who plays by his ridiculous man rules, a man would would fuck me and then proudly call me a slut while he walk away thinking he's some sort of stud, Mercy continued mentally questioning.

Mercy almost opened her mouth to tell him off, but instead moved her hand slightly, pulling out her flask and filled her mouth full of whiskey, a whiskey that no longer burned, and she swished it around in her mouth once and then promptly swallowed it down in a single gulp.

Be spontaneous for once, god damn, Mercy mentally coached herself, while attempting to push beyond the hurdles of doubt her mind cleverly placed in front of her. Lifting up the flask to her mouth, one more time, Mercy drank down another gulp and instantly began desiring the well dressed man as if she'd never had any doubts about his intentions, secretly hoping he'd jump in the booth with her and take her right then and there.

Tilting her head slightly, Mercy noticed the man's brow begin to moisten. He's starting to crack, Mercy thought. He must be nervous! I'm actually making him nervous, Mercy thought excitedly while continuing to stare deep into his eyes and she never felt more like a predator eying its prey than she did in that moment.

For the first time, Mercy felt like the hunter. It was as if the man, and all his carefully hidden vulnerabilities and fears, were being exposed with every additional second she weighed her eyes upon his. Is this how men always feel, she posited? It's thrilling, she slyly smiled. It's absolutely thrilling, and Mercy's desire for power over this man only began increasing.

Enjoying the thrill of control and power, Mercy pulled her coat off from covering up her body while blatantly lifting her dress and exposing her light gold colored panties. She then began sweeping her fingers across the wet lips of her pussy again, while leaning her arched back into the corner of her seat, deliberately exposing herself more to him.

The handsome well dressed man, with his impeccable style, stumbled into the metal train door while attempting to lean suavely into it because he forgot to first extend his arm in order to brace himself causing him to completely lose his cool.

“Shit,” the handsome man complained in a tone resonating in anger. Mercy began laughing uncontrollably, which only served to piss him off more. Glaring at her with hostility that seemed to light a glowing flame in his swelling eyes, the man stared at her as if he was consuming with rage.

Taking a small step back, the man straightened his spine and closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again, as if he was somehow rebooting his mental programming with a server from some evil empire. All the while his stiff prick remained pointing straight up to his head, like an arrow from one of those 'I'm with stupid shirts,' and Mercy began laughing even louder at the thought of that.

Furious now, the man carelessly stepped towards Mercy as if initiating a duel with an adversary while Mercy playfully straightened one of her legs out further, pushing one of her delicate fingers back up her sweet moist pinkness, causing the man to descend one of his knees down to her booth seat, to look Mercy square in her eyes.

“Suck my cock!” the man burst out coarsely in a broken Eastern European accent while his hand grabbed onto her wrist. Stunned, Mercy pulled her arm back with the strength of a hundred lifetimes of preparation and swung her open hand flat across his round face forcing the Eastern European man to tumble down into the aisle of the train like a bruised fruit bouncing around on the bed of a truck speeding down a gravel road.

Reclaiming the thrill of power, Mercy rose to her feet slowly like a smooth elevator and stared down at the scrambling man, quickly noticing everyone else in the train car look towards him after hearing the loud slap that caused him to fall.

“You must be out of your goddamn mind!” Mercy yelled, “trying to touch me like that! You should be ashamed of yourself!” she continued.

The man stared back up at Mercy, completely shocked. His face made it clear that he wasn't used to being put in such a weakened position by anyone, especially not a woman. To think, Mercy thought, just moments ago I was wondering whether or not he was the one I'd choose to let my mouth be dominated by his stiff dick, the same dick she noticed that was now currently pitching a giant tent in his expensive dress pants, while simultaneously being painfully restrained by the shiny belt buckle he was wearing.

Noticing the man was about to yell back at her and defend his actions, Mercy shouted over his broken gasps, “you asked me to shove your cock into my mouth, you sick fuckin' pervert! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

For some reason this situation made Mercy think about his big penis being shoved down her throat so hard she was left gasping for breath, and for a moment her inner thighs began tingling in anticipation of it. What's wrong with me, she continued thinking, realizing these conflicting feelings while being unable to square them out.

Mercy just continued glaring back down at the man, while he continued wriggling and struggling around on the aisle floor like a broken-winged bird trying to fly.

I don't want to be an object a man can control, Mercy continued thinking to herself, I want to be a pleasure challenge he commits himself to fulfilling, not merely a box he can rent to park his dick into. I want a man who wants to do good for me, Mercy emphatically continued thinking, realizing something she hadn't thought before, while continuing to stare down at the European man, who's cracked head seemed to be the cause of all his pride escaping from his face.

I want a man who treats me like the rare young woman I am, a man who spoils me before he fucks me, one who can look into my sultry eyes and direct conversation towards my intelligence not just direct his dick towards my banging body, Mercy finally admitted to herself. God, Mercy continued, I'm really not succeeding at this spontaneous bullshit at all, am I? I'm failing miserably.

The silence in the train car was deafening and Mercy began thinking about the handsome strong chinned man who defended her against Michael T. Cone's stiff coffee covered cock, from the last train car she was sitting in. Maybe that's what I want, Mercy pondered, a man who'll fight for me.

Thinking about the handsome chinned man a bit more, Mercy's eyes couldn't help but stare at the Eastern European man's stiff stilted cock a bit more as he made a few adjustments with his pants to relieve his tent pole from being uncomfortably tugged by his shiny belt buckle. Eventually, the Eastern European man clumsily stumbled back to his unsteady feet, and made his way to the door, where he exiting the train car in utter disgrace.

Returning to her seat, Mercy turned her head towards the window again and looked up towards the moonlit clouds dangling form the sky. She began to think about how lucky they were that they were never alone.

“Pretty, huh?”

She heard a man's deep voice say, startling her enough to turn towards it. She recognized his stony eyes right away and she smiled back at him. His strong chin hung just below his crooked smile.

“It's a nice looking night out there, right?” The man who defended her earlier, looked past Mercy's face, out towards the illuminated clouds in the midnight sky as he spoke.

Mercy turned back towards the window, feeling the train move fast along the tracks, the clouds seeming to permanently remain anchored in their place like pictures hanging from a wall.

“It really is,” Mercy answered him softly, almost bringing the flask to her lips before closing the lid instead of taking another drink.

“Do you mind if I sit?” her defender asked her.

“I don't mind at all,” Mercy replied deciding to restrain herself a bit more than she had before.

Tousling her hair so that it dangled in a chaotic fashion, Mercy and her defender began talking about everything she imagined a man could ask her. He respected her and seemed to see a beauty in her beyond her manicured nails.

Despite her voluptuous curves, the man's interests seem to lie more in her intellect, her goals, and her ambitions, and Mercy never felt more comfortable with a man than this man she had just met.

Mercy, for the second time in her young life, met a man she felt comfortable with almost immediately, and soon became determined not to let her newly ascribed impassivity ruin her pursue of it.

She decided to sit back and just see where the rest of the night might take her…