Bray Array - The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 19

The path of a newlywed on the start of a great adventure with her new husband was a path that she didn’t plan on treading down again. It was fine for her to get crazy and enjoy herself without worrying about the consequences for now.

She replaced her empty bottle in the bucket and grabbed another, enjoying the crisp sound as she twisted the cap off. She grabbed another and passed it over to Andy.

“Let’s enjoy tonight,” she said, “And tomorrow in the morning.”

He smiled and kissed her, leaving a faint taste of cool beer. She squeezed his leg and smiled.

Sometimes heaven is easy to achieve.

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.