The Vow

Her imaginary Benjamin said it over and over again. Mercy could feel the orgasm building, her first ever. She'd never had one during sex, but maybe that's because she needed to practice first. Guys practiced all the time, didn't they? She wondered if Benjamin ever practiced. Would he let her watch? Do guys ever help girls masturbate? Mercy imagined it was Benjamin's finger in her pussy and Benjamin's thumb against her clit. And she could still hear his fantasy voice. "I want to fuck you, Mercy. My cock in your cunt. My cock in you, Mercy."

The orgasm hit her like a lightning bolt, electrifying her. Her back arched. She rolled her head back and forth over the concrete curb. It was the most glorious thing she'd ever experienced. It was like a nuclear bomb had gone off and obliterated everything but the exquisite sensations in her pussy. She heard someone whimpering and dimly realized that it was her.

Mercy suddenly revived from a sudden faint. The orgasm had actually caused her to pass out. Just for a moment, she was sure, but it had been most refreshing. She had successfully masturbated, she realized, proud of the accomplishment.

Panting, achy, and sweaty, she opened one eye, anxious to see if the world had truly ended or if had just seemed that way. The word Goodyear appeared before her. Something hard and black was pressed against her cheek and there was a terrible taste in her mouth. Slowly, Mercy deduced that she was giving a an open-mouthed kiss to a tire.

She rolled her head away from the Toyota and looked up into Benjamin's astonished face. He was standing by the car's bumper. She blushed a deep red. Realizing that her hand was still on her sex, she tried to casually move it to a neutral position, wiping her wet fingers on her thigh.

"How long have you been standing there?" she demanded. Whatever answer he gave, it was too long.

"You have a hotel room now. Perfect place for this kind of thing."

Knowing it sounded ridiculous, she explained. "I wanted some privacy."

He nodded as if this made perfect sense. "Your definition of 'privacy' might be a little different from mine."

Mercy climbed to her feet. Scowling, she said, "I'm still mad at you. Show me to this room."

"What the hell did I do?"

"You told me I'd have to keep my name if we got married."

"Are we getting married?" Benjamin asked in exasperation.

"Not a chance of it."

"Then what does it matter?"

"It is insulting that you would not want to share your name with me," Mercy told him.

"You want the name? It's yours! I don't care."

She glared at him and started marching toward the entrance. He took hold of her shoulders, ignoring her irritated hiss, and steered her to the left.

"Not the lobby. I propped open the fire door," he said. "My boss would have my head if he knew. We'll go up the emergency stairs."

She stopped dead. "I can't do it."

"Why not?"

In a small voice, she said. "I'm afraid of stairwells."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You never know what might be lurking up above or down below, waiting for you."

He took a deep breath. "There are seven people in the hotel lobby. You're still naked. There is no way you'll make it to the elevator before someone stops you. Even if you did, the front desk can shut down the elevator."

"How do you know that?"

"I did the fire inspection here."

"I can't go in the stairwell," she insisted, folding her arms in defiance. "You'll just have to find somewhere else."

For the third time, Mercy found herself dangling over his shoulder with his hand on her butt. "This is not civilized behaviour," she yelled at him. But it was surprisingly comforting. Every time she rode this shoulder, she was moving from danger to safety. She shrieked in panic and beat at his back as he bolted up the steps, but she quieted the moment they arrived at their floor and exited the stairwell.

"Is this a nice hotel?" she asked as they emerged in an empty corridor, pretending she hadn't just screamed her way up five flights. She wasn't really surprised when he didn't answer.

The carpet was nice, she decided, looking down at her hair brushing the floor. Soft and blue. It would feel good on her feet.

"You can put me down," she said.

"Oh, hell, no. You'd see a spider or a shadow or a ghost and I'd just have to pick you up again."

"Do you believe in ghosts? I used to see the ghost of my cousin Tim after he was executed. I was very frightened."

"Why was he executed?" Benjamin asked.

Mercy was silent for a long moment. Eventually, she said, "When I was sixteen, my parents sat me down and told me I never had a cousin Tim. I had a series of recurring nightmares. They put me on some pills for a while. Still, I am curious about ghosts."

"I should have known." Benjamin unlocked the door and entered the room.

"This is NOT how I want to be carried over the threshold," Mercy scolded. "If we get married."

Benjamin set her down. "Are we back to that?"

"We never left it. You have yet to satisfactorily explain why you wouldn't want me to have your last name."

"I said you can have it," he reminded her.

"'You can have it' is very different from 'I want you to have it.'"

"Don't you want to keep your own name?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

"Excuse me?" Benjamin glared at her. "Doesn't this ridiculous debate constitute thinking about it?"

Mercy rolled her eyes. "Of course not. When a man asks me to marry him, then I'll consider the matter. There will be lists of pros and cons. I will have to do some research. My therapist will be consulted. Hyphens will be seriously contemplated. Children's names will have to be brought into the equation, just in case the initials spell out rude words. But we're far from that point. We are discussing whether you would want me to take your name."

"I would leave it up to you."

"Of course you would. That's a given. That's the easy answer."

"What's the right answer?"

Mercy looked at him in pity. "If I decide to keep my own name, you're supposed to accept it manfully. You might argue a little, try to make me change my mind, but you'll give in. Your stoic expression will almost hide the hurt and disappointment in your eyes."

"I don't believe this."

"You're a man. You're supposed to be territorial, possessive, and dominant. You will accept my choice, but you should hope that I want your name. You want me to belong to you and you hope I want to belong to you."

Benjamin sighed. "If we get married, it would be an honour and a privilege if you would take my name for your own."

"Was that so hard?"

"Let me remind you that it is an enormous IF. To tell the truth, and don't get mad, I seem to have forgotten your first name."

In a tiny, crushed voice, she asked, "You forgot my name?"

"I was distracted."

"By what?"

"First, the burning building. Second, painful injuries to my arm and leg. Third, the EMT treating said injuries, and Fourth, I was distracted by a beautiful woman standing naked in front of me, refusing the blanket she was offered."

"Beautiful?" Mercy questioned.

"Very."

"Oh. Ok. You're forgiven."

"If it makes you feel better, since I didn't remember your name, I booked us into the hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Webster. I very possessively gave you my name in the assumption you'd want it."

Mercy fought it, but a grin broke out of her face, pleased with his manly arrogance. "You may not have noticed, but my social skills are close to nonexistent. When I told you before that I don't know where my friends live, it would be more accurate to say that I have no friends."

"How did you ever get hooked up with Howard Grimaldi?"

"My library card got cancelled. I wanted to hire an attorney to get it back. Someone mean, who knew all the dirty lawyer tricks. Howard was always on the news. He seemed like the viciousest, angriest lawyer in the city. So I went to see him. He took me to dinner. Things progressed."

"Why did you turn him in?"

"He had a passport in some other name. He was obviously prepared to flee."

"And you wanted to see him pay for his crimes?" Benjamin was doubtful. She didn't seem like a law and order avenger.

"No. Or maybe yes. But not the crimes the D.A. was interested in."

"There was more? What did you want to see him punished for?"

"He only had one passport," she said. "He should have had two."

"Ah." Benjamin changed the subject. "You might want to take a shower. There are tire marks on your face."

Blushing as she remembered why that was, Mercy nodded. Shyly, she asked, "Do you want to watch me shower?"

"Do you want me to watch?"

She shrugged. "Men like to look at naked women."

"That," he said, "is an understatement."

"And you've already seen everything."

"And then some."

"No man has ever seen me naked before today," Mercy said. "But I've kind of gotten used to you looking. And maybe it's possible I've come to enjoy your ogling."

"Ogling?"

"Yes. Don't deny it. You ogled, Benjamin."

"I'm not denying the act. But nobody uses the word 'ogle' except the people who design crossword puzzles."

"I like crossword puzzles. So, if you're not busy, and if you'd like to keep on looking at me, I don't mind."

"I accept your offer. How is it that no man has seen you naked? Howard never took you to bed?"

"He did," Mercy said. "And perhaps a few before him. But always under a blanket with the lights out. I wear a long t-shirt to bed. He would lift it up for access. I suppose that poor shirt is all burnt up now."

"None of your exes wanted to see you naked?"

"I suppose they probably did. But I wasn't going to marry them."

"You think about marriage a lot."

"Not so much. But I'm naked and we keep talking about me being naked. When I was a teenager, my mama told me over and over that the only man who should ever see me naked would be the man I was gonna marry. It's possible I'm superstitious. If I had no intention of marrying a man, I wouldn't let him see me without clothes. Then you barged in and saw stuff only my future husband had a right to look at."

"Hence the kooky questions," Benjamin said in understanding.

"Hence the perfectly reasonable questions," Mercy corrected.

"My mistake. Shall I start your shower, my lady?"

"Yes, please. Hot, please. And a bath, if you don't mind."

She watched as he filled the tub, content with silence as the water level rose. It felt like the height of luxury to have someone caring for her like this.

Mercy started wondering about other women in his life. Who were they? How did he meet them? "Benjamin, how many lives have you saved?"

"Just by myself, seven."

Mercy nodded. She liked it that he was able to answer. The lives he'd saved were important to him. "How many women have you seen naked?"

"I do not know."

She didn't like that answer at all. Did that mean the naked women were unimportant? Had there been so many that he'd lost count? "Why don't you remember?"

"Several reasons. But here's one. When I was in France, some years ago, I was dragged to a nude beach. It didn't occur to me to count the females."

Okay, she thought. That was an acceptable answer. And her bath was ready. It was an enormous tub, but it had filled quickly. Benjamin took her hand and helped her step into the water.

The warmth was glorious. She liked hot baths at any time, but it was especially sweet today. The day had been pleasantly warm, but one does get used to the blanket effect from clothing. Mercy had been feeling a faint chill simply based on her exposure. But now she was literally bathed in heat.

Mercy's eyes were closed as she lay back in the water and let it soothe her soul. She opened them for just a moment to make sure Benjamin really was looking at her. It seemed important somehow. Not just keeping her company or watching over her, but looking at her nudity.

She had never released his hand once he'd helped her into the bath. He'd held on as she sank down into the water. And he held on still. The gentle press of his fingers was proof of his presence. But Mercy wanted to know that he was enjoying himself, lusting after her.

In her brief glance, she saw him sitting beside the bathtub, facing her, his right hand in hers. And he was definitely looking at her. Benjamin's eyes were on her breasts, nipples poking up out of the water. It was comforting to feel his eyes on her, to share herself with him.

"Benjamin?"

"Yes?"

"It's possible that I'm a bit flaky."

"Hmm," he answered noncommittally.

"You're not going to argue with me?"

"Hard to argue with such an astute observation."

Mercy smiled. She would have felt less comfortable if he'd pretended she was completely normal. She was an oddball. She knew it. Benjamin was okay with that.

"Do you like looking at me?" she asked.

"I'm ogling."

"Why do men like looking at naked women?"

"Are you kidding?" Benjamin asked.

She waved her free hand in the air. "They want sex. Of course I know that. But men buy magazines or go to strip clubs. They won't have sex with those girls."

"They jerk off."

"Guys do that anyway. They don't need to look at girls for that."

"Even if they can't see them in person or in pictures, they use their imagination to look at them in fantasy. They're still looking."

Mercy considered that. "Have you ever gone to a strip club?"

"I have, yes."

"I assume that guys don't jerk off in the club. Do they just hold the image in mind until they get home?"

"It's more than that," Benjamin explained. "You get aroused when looking at nude women. It feels good and it builds up. And the dancers give lap dances, which makes you even more excited. It's that intense arousal you carry with you."

"What exactly is a lap dance? I've heard of them, but never asked for a definition."

"A lap dance is when a naked woman grinds her ass against a man's crotch. I should take you to a strip club."

"Would you really do that?" Mercy asked. "Do they even let women in?"

"Wouldn't be much of a strip club without a few women. If you want to go, I'll take you. You're already dressed for it."

Mercy pictured herself taking her clothes off on a stage in a room full of men. "A lot of people saw me naked today, didn't they?"

"Hundreds."

"Do you think some of the men will go home and...you know...while remembering what they saw?"

"No," Benjamin said. "I don't think. I know for certain that a lot of men will be jerking off to thoughts of you for years to come."

Smiling, she asked, "Did you like watching me masturbate?"

"Lady, that's the image I'll be jerking off to."

"For years?"

"Decades," he assured her.

"You still don't remember my name?"

"Sure I do. You're Mrs. Benjamin Webster."

Giggling, she said, "My name is Mercy."

"Mercy Webster. Good to know."

"Did you happen to notice that I'd shaved off my pubic hair?"

"I am a very observant fellow," Benjamin said.

"Did you like the way it looks?"

"I think we've established that I like looking at naked women. That particular region of the female anatomy is an extra special favourite. You made it even more naked. I very much liked it."

"I was reading a woman's magazine," Mercy explained. "It said that going bare down there would invite kisses. I thought I might see if that was accurate."

"You've never had your pussy kissed?"

"No," she said. Mercy peeked at him through her eyelashes. "Not yet."

"That is a crime," he said. "I might have to correct that error."

She blushed and smiled. "Do you have to pee?" she asked.

"Not urgently."

"But you will have to pee soon, right?"

"I am human," Benjamin reminded her. "Eventually, yes, I will have to pee."

"You can pee now if you want."

"I can wait."

"It won't bother me if you do it now," Mercy told him.

"What is this conversation really about?"

She sighed. "Ok. I suppose you figured me out. You probably remember that I had never let a man see me naked before you barged into my apartment."

"I object to the term 'barged', but I do recall the conversation."

"Well, it's possible that I have never seen a naked man for the same reasons. I was thinking that maybe if you had to pee, I might peek."

"It's a big tub. You could have invited me to share the bath."

"I was too shy for that."

Benjamin hooted with laughter. "You roam around naked. You masturbate in a parking garage. You invite me to come watch you take a bath. Mrs. Mercy Webster, I don't think 'shy' describes you."

"Watkins," she corrected.

"How's that?"

"My name is Mercy Watkins. Mercy Alice Watkins."

"Nope. I reject that. We may not be really married, but for as long as we're pretending, then you have my last name. If you want to order room service or get extra linens, the hotel staff is going to be responding to Mrs. Webster."

She thought about that and decided to accept the scenario. "Okay. I'm Mrs. Webster."

"I think my wife would welcome her husband into her bath."

Mrs. Webster, Mercy decided, was braver than Miss Watkins. In an attempt to live up to her new name, she pulled her knees up and scooched back in the tub, hoping Benjamin would take that for an invitation.

He grinned in understanding and acceptance. He pulled off the t-shirt, and Mercy happily ogled him. She liked looking at men's chests, so long as the men didn't know she was doing so. But that was the most she'd ever done. As Benjamin's shorts dropped, revealing his firm erection, she blushed and turned away.

Reminding herself that she was shedding her inhibitions, Mercy forced herself to face his cock. Scolding herself for cowardice, she even opened an eye.

There it was, pointing straight at her. Most of the time, Mercy didn't appreciate it when people pointed things at her. This, she didn't mind so much. She may not have actually seen one of these before, but she was not a virgin. She knew that when a man's cock got pointy, he liked what he was looking at.

Slowly, giving her plenty of time to look, Benjamin stepped into the tub. It was a nice, large bath. Plenty of room for two people. He stood in front of her for a long moment, his cock just inches from her face. She didn't have the courage to touch it, but she was pretty sure she wanted to.

The women's magazines greatly encouraged handjobs and blowjobs. There were plenty of tips and personal accounts. Mercy could fantasize about taking him in her hand, but she could barely imagine taking it into her mouth. She hoped Benjamin didn't expect it of her. At the same time, she had a brief, attractive fantasy in which he forced her. She was going to have to discuss this with her therapist.

But the moment passed. Benjamin sat down in the water. Mercy faced him, giving him a friendly smile, trying to cover her nervousness. "I have a confession to make," she said. "I'm not very good at seduction. You might have to give me some pointers."

"Were you planning to seduce me?"

"I think so. I'm trying to be bolder," Mercy said.

"Tell me what you think seduction is," he asked.

Frowning, she thought about it. "I'm pretty sure it's when one person tries to tempt the other into having sex. Is that not correct?"

"By that definition, you have already succeeded. I've been sorely tempted by you since the moment I saw you. If you ask, I'm yours."

Pleased, Mercy grinned at him. "If you were thinking about seducing me, it's possible I would let you."

"I think I might try ravishing rather than seducing," Benjamin told her.

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that. What does 'ravishing' mean? Isn't that a little like rape?"

"A little, but there are key differences. Seduction is slow and subtle. Wine and candles, soft music and dim light, advancing a little, then retreating, then advancing again, each time bringing the subject closer to giving in. If she says No, I back off, but keep trying to persuade her.