Molly's Lips: Club Mephisto Retold (12 page)

“Master… Am I still... May I...?”

“Don’t even think about it.” He shook his head at her in mock reproach. “Greedy girl. Yes, our time is almost up and the rules are relaxing a little. But I think you’ve had plenty of orgasms for the moment. If anything, I need to get you more worked up for your reunion with your Master. It’s the least I can do for him, after he was kind enough to share you with me.”

He fed her breakfast, remembering that first day she’d knelt there in his kitchen, her eyes wide and nervous, her body drawn up tight. He hadn’t known her body then, but he knew it now. Knew every mole, every freckle, every erotic hotspot. How long would he remember after she was gone?

But he had to get her ready for Clayton. He put some mild clamps on her nipples so he could leave them on for an effective amount of time, then harnessed her up tight with the stinging oiled-up shafts in her ass and pussy. She crawled into the cage with a woebegone look he’d certainly miss. An hour later he took off the clamps and, just for fun, loosened the harness just enough to slip a remote-controlled vibrator down inside it. He might as well play with her while he had her. An afternoon of edging would have her in tip top shape for her Master. It was the least he could do.

*** *** ***

At dinner, Mephisto added another chair to the table. Molly stared at it from her knees. He waited for the gears to turn. She appeared traumatized, but he persisted.

“I know you know how to use a chair. Sit.”

He unpacked takeout food, salads and sandwiches, as Molly sat wringing her hands in her lap. So she didn’t want to act as his equal. What she didn’t understand is that even sitting next to him at his table, even with her own plate, cup, and set of silverware, he was still in charge. The rest was Kabuki Theater. Even last night, when he’d held her like a lover and whispered in her ear, he was in charge. When she was having orgasm after orgasm, oblivious to everything else, including him, he was in charge of that too.

Maybe she did understand. Maybe she was upset because she understood his actions for what they were. A transitory process. The beginning of release. He heard a small sound, and looked over to find her crying. Still trying to eat. He stroked her hand to calm her.

“It’s okay to cry. But I would like you to tell me the reason.”

She looked up at him, blinking through tears. “I think it’s mostly...that I’m going to miss you.”

It was hard, really hard not to react to that emotionally. “I’ll miss you too,” he said as evenly as he could. “I enjoyed our time together.”

“Me, too,” she said, latching onto his neutral tone like a life raft. “I enjoyed serving you, Master.”

“Are you happy?”

He asked it fast, while she was open and unguarded. He watched closely for her reaction, but she played dumb. “What do you mean? Happy to see my Master?”

“I mean,” he said with a touch of impatience, “are you happy? Are you content in your life with him?”

She was back to twisting her hands in her lap. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because he asked me to. And because I hope you would confide in me if you weren’t happy.”

“I am happy. Very happy!”

“He would love you either way, you know. He told me to tell you that too.”

Molly gawked, trying to process those shocking words. Of course, in some way, she had to know they were true. But the color drained from her face as she stared at Mephisto. “Does he not... Does he not want...?”

Mephisto tsked. “Don’t worry, kitten. It’s your happiness he’s worried about. As you know, he does what he wants in life, and his needs are well met by a very talented companion.” He took one of her curls and pulled it in a soft tease. “He wants to be sure you’re happy too, and he doesn’t completely trust you to tell him the truth when you’re in role. Not that a well-trained slave like you would lie. It is only,” he said, brushing back her hair, “that slaves sometimes feel they must tell Master what he wants to hear.”

He was trying to reassure her, to let her know it was okay, at this moment, to share her feelings, but she was in abandonment-alarm mode. “You’re telling me the truth? He’s not making plans to let me go, to release me? If you know—please—you have to tell me!”

Her panic was a tangible thing. It pained Mephisto to watch her go through it. Clayton was right. She really would fall apart if Clayton was ever forced to leave her behind. Mephisto disguised his concern in a sharp, chiding tone. “Release you? I never said anything about him wanting to release you. He’s never indicated anything like that to me. In fact, I don’t think there’s any other owner of my acquaintance who cares so deeply about his slave. Just calm down, Molly.”

Mephisto grimaced and took a sip of water, feeling suddenly, inexplicably irritable.
Molly, Molly...you’re stronger than this. Aren’t you?

“You know, I did this to you,” he said. “I made you who you are.”

“That’s not true. I was always meant to be this way. You’re not God. You didn’t make me any way—”

“Okay.” Mephisto put his hand over hers. “Breathe, Molly. And you’re right. I didn’t make you into a slave, but I had a lot to do with introducing you to Clayton. I set you on this path. To be honest, I was surprised where it ended up.”

“Surprised how?”

He sucked in air and let it out. “Surprised at how much you gave up for him.” Their gazes locked. For a moment, just a moment, she was there. Really there. “Are you happy, Molly?”

She swallowed, wiping away the last of her tears. “Yes.” Her voice was calm, reassuring. “Yes, Mephisto, I’m happy.”

He was quiet a moment. He believed her, thank god. “Slavery fits you like a glove, kitten. So it doesn’t surprise me. But look in my eyes and promise me that if you ever need help, you’ll come to me. If you’re ever unhappy. If the fit starts to slip.”

“I promise,” she said.

“Good enough.” It had to be good enough. If this week had taught him anything, it was that Molly was strong, and that she was doing what she wanted. She was happy. Thank god.

They finished eating and straightened up the kitchen. Mephisto took off her harness and had Molly clean it and pack it away in a gift bag. It would be a gift for Clayton, not Molly, of course. Would Clayton use it? Would Molly miss it if he didn’t? Mephisto got her tidied up and leashed, and walked her out to await her Master’s arrival.

As his staff arrived for the evening and Club Mephisto prepared to open, Mephisto tugged at Molly’s leash under his desk. He unzipped and sheathed himself, then put his head down in his hands and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. As dungeon monitors checked equipment and wait staff prepped the bar, he breathed in and out slowly, feeling nothing but her warm mouth and busy tongue, thinking of nothing but Molly. All those little looks. Those frustrated cries. Her longing, her anger, her submission. Her secrets. Her sweetness.

As his mind drifted, his cock was bucking, pulsing, reaching for orgasm under her talented attention. He thought of her on the bank of the creek, that look of loss, and yet determination. Everyone made choices in life. He thought of her delight as he fed her the ice cream. Vanilla ice cream, ironically. The laughter in her eyes and the delicate licks of her tongue...

She was happy.

He put a hand on either side of her head and emptied himself in her mouth, arching forward, his eyes shut, his mouth open in pleasure. He felt her tears warm against his palms. Beautiful emotional tears. If she wasn’t happy, none of this would be a turn on. None of this would be okay.

She cried a little more before she settled and curled up under the desk at his feet. Her Master arrived a couple hours after the club opened, and Mephisto tugged her leash to alert her. Molly crawled out and sat up, watching Clayton approach, her shoulders straight and trembling as they’d been when he left. Her thighs slightly parted, her hands open in her lap. A slave presenting for her Master, waiting for his attention. His embrace.

The reunion was sweet. Formal and yet abandoned. Clayton greeted her, then pulled her up and hugged her, and she sank into his arms like a lost child finally home again.

When Clayton kissed her cheeks, tasting her tears, Mephisto had to look away.

Mephisto asked Clayton to meet him at the park rather than the restaurant Clayton suggested. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he missed Molly.

Clayton wasn’t a park type of guy, but Mephisto found him waiting at the bench by the snack bar anyway, just as agreed. The older man was enjoying a soft serve vanilla cone, his suit jacket folded neatly to the side over the arm of the bench. He looked like any typical real estate magnate getting some fresh air, one tailored pant leg crossed fastidiously over the other. He was authority and wealth personified, even on a rusting park bench. Damn him. Mephisto felt shabby in comparison, his dreads carelessly tied back.

Mephisto nodded at the half-eaten cone in Clayton’s hand. “Molly loves that kind of ice cream.”

“Does she?” His friend’s voice communicated disinterest. Mephisto hated him for a moment. Clayton gestured to the bench and Mephisto seated himself beside him.

So how’s Molly? Did she settle back in?
These were the questions Clayton expected him to ask, perhaps, but Mephisto sat instead in silence. He felt churlish, antagonistic. Clayton finished his cone while Mephisto watched the joggers and walkers, the moms with baby strollers circling the park.

“I appreciate you watching Molly for me last week,” Clayton finally drawled. “Although it’s nice to have her home. She likes her routines. And her orgasms, you mean, mean man.”

Mephisto shrugged, his hackles subsiding. “You are far too lenient with her, orgasm-wise.”

Clayton gave an undignified snort and then they were both laughing. “I think she understands the purpose behind orgasm denial,” Clayton said. “But she hates it just the same.”

“Oh, yes, she understood.” Mephisto sobered. “How’s her burn?”

“Fine. Barely visible at this point. I hope you didn’t tear yourself up too badly over it.”

“If she was my slave, I wouldn’t have. But she was on loan, and I felt like world’s shittiest slave minder.”

“I don’t let her anywhere near the iron. Ever. I should have told you. I also keep her away from stovetops. Grills. Caustic chemicals, batteries. Ladders. Ice picks. Really anything that an overly exuberant slave might manage to maim herself with accidentally.” He paused, toying with the cuff of his pants. “She is so pure of heart though.”

“Like a child,” Mephisto agreed. “Or a pet.”

“An accident-prone pet.”

They talked for a while about Molly’s stay, about Mephisto’s chastity training, about Molly’s time at the orgy, about her slave highs and lows. Mephisto left out some things, but was brutally honest about others, like the fact that he’d punished Molly harshly for something she hadn’t even done. Clayton listened, inserting funny comments and observations. It reminded Mephisto that as much as he thought he knew Molly, Clayton knew her better. Clayton had a line on Molly that eclipsed anything Mephisto had managed to work out in a week. But that’s why Clayton was her Master, and Mephisto only a temporary wrangler. That’s why Clayton wasn’t jealous of Mephisto. He had no need to be.

By the time Mephisto got to the end of his tales, both men were relaxed and chuckling about the one thing they both adored in common—Clay’s very sweet and dedicated slavegirl. Clayton took a deep breath.

“Well, as I said, should anything ever happen to me...”

“Here we go again.”

Clayton rubbed his forehead, his eyes on some point in the distance. “You know, I’ve had a good life. A superb life. A better life than any heartless old bastard like me deserved to have. I’ve had the best wine, the best women, the best homes, the best possessions, the best cars and travel, and of course, Molly to kneel at my feet these last few years. When I go, I’ll go happy, and I have no children to worry about. Only Molly.” He looked at Mephisto. “Thanks to you, I have the luxury of knowing she’ll be taken care of. That means a lot to me.”

“I understand that, but I hardly think you’re at death’s door. Why are you obsessing about this stuff? The big 5-0 on the horizon?”

“Maybe.” Clayton uncrossed his legs and kicked at a pebble on the ground. “I could die in a car accident tomorrow, you know.”

“Yeah, so could I.”

“Well, don’t. I’m counting on you if my chances run out.”

Mephisto studied his friend. Something in his expression was off. “What’s the matter, Clay? Really, what’s this all about?”

The toe of his expensive Italian shoe sent the pebble skittering across the path. “Nothing’s the matter.” He looked up at Mephisto with something much closer to his usual smile. “I’m a businessman. I’m obsessed with being prepared. I did finally tell her about you, that you would look after her if something happened to me. But I kept it light.”

“She still cried though, didn’t she?”

“Like a faucet. Soaked my shirt. I think I set her worrying about that chastity belt. She knows that’s what awaits her if she ever falls into your hands again.”

That brought a smile from Mephisto, a strained chuckle. “She hated that thing. You should have heard the sounds she made every time I brought it out.”

“I hung it on the back of the bedroom door. I look at it every so often very pensively just to freak her out.”

Mephisto laughed out loud. “You’re a sadist.”

“You’re more of a sadist. Molly told me enough of your adventures to know that.” Both men laughed, finding peace in humor—at Molly’s expense of course.

As Mephisto’s laughter wound down, he sighed in mock disgruntlement. “I tried, Clay. I wanted to improve her for you, make her an even better slave than she already is. But I don’t think I changed her at all. There aren’t many ways to improve a girl like her.”

“You made her more grateful for me, anyway. I appreciate that.”

Mephisto grinned in response, but he felt miserable inside. “I was probably too hard on her. I can’t help the way I am. I’ll understand if you’d rather line up someone else to look after her. You know, in your Doomsday papers.”