Molly's Lips: Club Mephisto Retold (11 page)

“But it was my fault, Master,” she said. “I’m not good at ironing. I should have told you.”

He didn’t want her to blame this on herself. He looked up, on the verge of snapping at her again, and she flinched. Jesus, he had to calm down. He was freaking her out and the pain of the burn had to be excruciating enough. He ran his hands through his hair and then led her back out to his work table. Should he take her to a hospital? A plastic surgeon?

“Sit here. Just sit here and don’t move.”

He went back to the bedroom and closed the door and dialed Clayton’s number. Clayton picked up on the third ring.

“Mephisto. How are you today?” he asked.

I’m shitty. I maimed your slave. It’s going to scar and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“There was— Molly had— There was an accident.”

“What happened?” asked Clayton sharply. “Tell me.”

“A burn,” Mephisto forced out. “Nothing serious. She’s okay. She got a burn. She was ironing.”

“Ironing?” Clayton sounded incredulous. “She can’t iron, my friend. You’re lucky she didn’t burn down your entire dungeon, and I’m sure she ruined your clothes!”

“Clayton—”

“How bad it is?” the other man asked.

“Not bad. A little blistery. Thin, a couple inches long. I’ll take her to the hospital if you want.”

“For a little burn like that? Answer me this, is she crying?”

“No.”

“Just put some antibiotic cream on it and bandage her up, then. She’s a slave, not a Ming vase.”

“But I promised to return her free of scars. And I think this will leave a scar.”

“You and I both know I was talking about impact scars. Not something like this. What’s really the matter?”

Mephisto blinked, taken aback by his blunt question. He took a moment to think before he answered. “I wanted to return her to you in perfect shape. Exemplary condition, with lots of edifying and educating experiences. I wanted to improve her for you, and I’m not sure I’ve been doing that at all.”

Clayton tsked softly. “You know what I’ve learned in my advancing age and experience? Owning a slave shouldn’t be so much work. I really believe that. At some point you have to trust them to serve you. Not with trials and tests, and hoops to jump through, and some measurable result. Sometimes you have to just appreciate what’s in their hearts. Tell me this. What kind of condition is Molly’s heart in at the moment?”

Mephisto sighed. “Pretty good condition, I think.”

“Is she still on orgasm restriction?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps it’s time to release her from that. And release yourself a little too.” Clayton paused. “What’s in
your
heart, my friend?”

Molly. Molly is in my heart, goddamn you.

Mephisto hung up with Clayton a few minutes later, promising to give Molly an orgasm spectacular enough to distract her from the pain of her burn. That part would be easy. Saying goodbye tomorrow would be hard. Would she miss him? She had a scar to remember him by, if nothing else.

“Master,” she said as soon as he came back to her. “It—it already feels better.”

Lovely, lovely girl. She deserved to feel better. She was really such a lovely, obedient girl. “I need to see you in the bedroom,” he said.

She followed, not questioning. Perhaps she expected him to beat her, or tease her some more, or put her back in the dreaded harness. None of it mattered to her; she would do as he asked and so all the decisions lay with him. It was such a shocking level of trust, and, as Clayton had reminded him, that came not from practice and trials, but from her heart. In the bedroom, he drew her close and ran his fingers through her soft, curly hair. He stroked her injured arm and kissed her wrist just above the loosely wrapped bandage. “Your Master misses you,” he said. He looked at her as if he expected an answer, because he wanted to hear her voice.

“Oh. You talked to him?”

“Yes.”

Yes, I talked to him. Yes, you and I are talking now. Yes, I want to feel you shake and cry out under me with all that passion in your heart.
He ran his fingers over her breasts, across her flat belly and down to the apex of her thighs. He kissed her, tasting loyalty and courage and that note of sweetness that destroyed him as much as it turned him on. He stripped off his shirt and dropped his jeans to the floor. Molly started to her knees but he stopped her.

“No.”

He nudged her toward the bed and bent her over it, studying the welts on her ass. Those lines and bruises told the narrative of her stay with him. He touched each one, remembering, and then kissed her from the base of her spine up to her nape. She shivered, parting her legs a little more as he nestled his hips between her thighs. He wanted to thrust into her as he was, naked and unsheathed. He wanted to feel that closeness, that connection to her, even though it wasn’t a possibility. He pulled away with a curse, going for a condom. He rolled it on and took her hips in his hands, teasing her pussy with the head of his cock. She was so warm, so eternally wet.

“Molly...” He said her name, not
girl
or
you
or
slave
. He felt her body tense, grow rigid for a moment, but she was Molly to him, always, before everything else. She always would be. He sank deeper, pressing all the way in with attention to every sensation, every pinging of his nerves. Her hips moved slightly, raised and arched back toward him. He reached beneath her and parted her, sliding his fingers through her slickness and finding her swollen clit. He pressed it, teased it. He was deliberately slow, trying to stoke a long, hot burn rather than a quick explosion. She thought he was just edging her. He could tell it in her tension, her reservation, and yet she responded to him anyway. How selfless she was. What a good slave.

As if she read his thoughts, she turned her head and whispered in her steady, submissive way, “Master, I’m yours.”

Good God, why had he restricted her speech the whole week? Her voice was such a potent aphrodisiac, just like her scent, her body, her deep blue eyes. His teeth closed on her neck and he bit her gently, provoking a delicious sigh and shudder. At the same time, he slid forward into her, seating himself fully, basking in the pressure of her pussy around his cock. She moaned and fell forward, gasping as her injured arm brushed across the bed.

He pulled out and lifted her, turning her over. “Hold onto me,” he said. “Let me hold you.”

He entered her again and she arched beneath him, wrapping her legs around his hips. She reached out for him and he leaned forward, amazed to feel her stroking him, pulling him closer. She twisted her fingers in his dreadlocks and snapped her hips against him, giving more of herself, offering herself for his pleasure. He stared down at her, wanting to hold this moment forever. He was wrong. He had taught her something. He’d taught her that she could withstand all his torments, that she could prevail and be a better slave for it. And she...she had taught him that she was so much more than a slave. Always more than a slave.

He made a sound, just a small sound, but her gaze flew to his and something passed between them. A spark. An understanding. He nodded to her, past words now. How to explain this? Any of this? It wasn’t necessary. She understood what he wanted from her. She closed her eyes and launched herself at him, gripping his neck. She held tight, her pussy clenched around his cock, milking him, sending heat to his balls and down his thighs. They moved together in a lust-fueled dance, all caution to the wind. They were creating the blue kind of fire, the long-slow-burn fire he wanted for her. It was going to burn them both.

He pulled her closer, his delicate little balsawood airplane, thrusting and straining against him. He was the rubber band, twisting around and around her and holding her tight.

“Fly for me, Molly,” he growled against her ear.

She scratched his back and gasped, and then they were coming together in a bursting frenzy. He exploded like a bomb, howling out her name. He could feel her orgasm go on and on, her body quaking under his, her little sobs the most erotic music in the world. They collapsed together, gasping in the aftermath. Two hearts beating wild, connecting on some new unforeseen level.

Again
, Mephisto thought.
I have to have her again, and again.
He had to remember this. He had to consign this to memory—this slow, splendid burn like nothing he’d ever felt.

Mephisto dreamed of her all night, dreamed of fucking her and bringing her to orgasm. He dreamed of the look in her eyes when she understood he was going to let her come. He relived her shudders and the hot pleasure of burying his cock in her pussy and her ass, over and over, her body sliding against his, trapped under his, writhing in release.

Then he woke to a dream made real. He groped for a rubber and parted her legs from behind, pressing inside her, still half asleep. She moaned and arched back against him. For a while they fucked just like that, lazy and drifting, but with each thrust, more memories returned. More wicked, sex-drenched memories. His caresses intensified, and he fucked her harder, deeper. They were both waking up now, waking up on this...their last day.

He sat up and turned her around, lifted her into his lap, driving her down onto his cock. He manipulated her hips, wanting to be deeper, all the way inside. He kissed her hard, then pulled her head back with a fist in her hair and closed his teeth on her neck. They were fucking like animals, wild and uninhibited. Mephisto wondered if she and Clayton ever fucked like this. He felt quite certain they didn’t. Clayton was too controlled for this kind of sex. This was Molly, the old reckless, fun-loving, hard-living Molly giving him everything, damn the consequences.

It turned into a kind of struggle, a wrestling match. Mephisto dumped her back on the bed with a grunt, pinning her down, yanking her legs up over his shoulders. He squeezed her breasts and almost slapped her—just for fun—but then instead pressed a hand against her windpipe. She gazed up at him with lustful adoration.
Yes, lovely girl, I could kill you if I wanted to—but you know I won’t.
He released her with a bark of a laugh and leaned to kiss her. Their liplock ended in a bite—hers, not his. Little savage. He chuckled and grabbed her hands, pinning her arms over her head. He pressed his hips against her, forcing her legs wider with his knees, his ankles pinning her feet.

The tighter he held her, the more she squirmed beneath him, and the harder he fucked her. When he growled for her to come, she fought him and kicked her legs, hopelessly spread and conquered. Her cries rose to gasping, pleading utterances, and then he felt her whole body tense up. Her pussy contracted around his length, and his balls drew up in delicious erotic tension. While she flailed through her orgasm, he twisted her hair in his fingers and rode her to his own peak. She gasped as he pounded her, hurt her, but her orgasm rolled on, long past the time his left him feeling satisfied and empty.

Finally, she subsided, going limp. He pulled away to get rid of the condom, then slid back into the bed beside her, gathering her close to drink in her last few shudders, her shaky breaths. That was it. He wouldn’t let her come again with him. It was time to turn her mind back to her Master. Her real Master. Mephisto held her close and pressed his cheek against her forehead.

“Today’s the day.”

He took great care to make his voice sound neutral. Not happy, or disappointed. Not enthusiastic or mournful, although he felt a little mournful. He leaned back to watch her face. He saw the anticipation and gladness he expected, but a little shadow of sadness too. Maybe he was just imagining it.

“Show me your arm,” he said.

She held out her bandaged limb and he unwrapped it carefully. God, they’d fucked like monkeys for the last twelve hours. He hoped they hadn’t aggravated her injury. He uncovered her burn, but fortunately it seemed to be healing. Still red, but no longer swollen, and no blisters.

“It looks better,” he said.

“Yes, Master.”

“It’s possible I overreacted yesterday.”

Molly laughed softly. “I’m so clumsy sometimes. My Master knows it. He’ll just shake his head when he sees this.”

“Yes. He didn’t sound too surprised yesterday on the phone. He was actually shocked that you hadn’t managed to get yourself into more trouble.”

She lowered her eyes. “Did you tell him about...everything, Master?”

“Not yet, but I will. The good and the bad. He might as well know the things you were punished for, as well as the things you handled well.”

But he wouldn’t tell him everything. He wouldn’t tell Clayton about those times he saw the real Molly, his old Molly. Somehow he wanted to keep that to himself. She gazed up at him with wide eyes, fidgeting slightly at his side.

“What?” He stroked her cheek. “What now?”

“Are you really going to give him the harness?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yes. But now you’re asking too many questions. You can ask me one more thing about our time together. Anything. But only one more thing, so choose carefully.”

He thought she must have an untold number of questions about their week together. He thought she’d take a while to narrow down to the one she wanted. But she asked quickly, and she asked directly. “Why did you take me out to the park yesterday? To that creek?”

Fuck. That was a hard question. He let out a long breath, brushing his lips against her temple. “I just really wanted to see you there. I had my own questions.”

She made a slightly annoyed face. She couldn’t ask what those questions were now, having used up her one chance, and he wouldn’t have told her anyway.
I just wondered if you were happy. I want you to be happy. I think you are, but I can never be sure...because I can control everything but your truths.

She looked over at the cage, and Mephisto was amused to detect a note of wistfulness in her expression.

“Will you miss the cage?” he asked with a smile.

“I... I think I will miss it a little, Master. It was a nice place to feel safe. To feel your control.”

“You can spend some time in there after breakfast. I don’t need you for anything.” He traced over her breasts, teasing her nipples. She gave a little shiver and pressed closer to him.