Molly's Lips: Club Mephisto Retold (8 page)

Her look of distress was priceless. Even better—her attempt to hide the depth of her despair behind her equivocal slavey face.

“Nice try, kitten. But everything you think and feel is written on your face, clear as daylight.” He slapped her ass. “Now get going. I better not find one speck of dust.”

*** *** ***

He left her out in the dungeon, cleaning. He had professional teams come in to do the real cleaning, of course, but she didn’t know that. She worked so hard, as if she alone was responsible for Club Mephisto putting its best foot forward. Silly, earnest girl. If she saw the real mess that was left behind, the mess that was cleaned up while she slept in her snug little cage—the semen, the condoms, the sweat, the lube—she’d probably never recover.

Mephisto went in the back, stripped and showered and decided not to get dressed again. He lay back on his bed and dialed Clayton’s cell.

“How is she today?” Clayton asked as a greeting.

Mephisto laughed. “You sound about as tired as she does.”

“Ah, my poor slave. Long night?”

“The long night’s tonight. We’re hosting a party. Molly can attend, I suppose?”

“If you think she’ll enjoy it. Or not enjoy it,” he added with a chuckle. “Is she still on lockdown?”

“Yes.”

“Any slip ups?”

Mephisto paused. “No. But there was an interesting episode last night. Long story, but she ended up with some whip marks. Nothing that won’t be healed by tomorrow.”

Clayton was quiet a moment. “She has delicate skin. She’s more delicate than she looks.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Accidents happen,” he said tightly. “How is she otherwise?”

Shit. Clayton was angry as hell. “She’s fine. She’s trying hard to be good. It’s difficult for her. She’s not used to me.”

“And how are you?” Clayton asked with his usual incisive sharpness.

Mephisto sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Let’s just say I’m not used to her either. I’m trying to get through to what... I’m trying to...”

There was a lengthy silence on the line before Clayton spoke. “You know, Mephisto, I really appreciate you doing this. I think it’s important, but it’s messy too. I know that, but I trust you. You do what you think you have to do. Molly will survive, and you will, and I will too.”

Mephisto hung up with Clayton and tried to refocus on the things he needed to do. Emails, contacts. Equipment to be procured for the club. He ordered dinner in and only then reconnected with Molly, feeding her at his feet. He would miss this when she was gone, these times feeding her. He did it with other slaves now and again, for play, but he’d become used to having Molly there at every meal, perched so prettily on her knees, taking only what he saw fit to give her. If he watched her closely enough as they ate, he could see the small signs she gave, that she was still hungry, or that she was full. Now and again she shifted in her chastity harness. Those signs were crystal clear. Still horny and frustrated.

After dinner Mephisto went back to his desk to roll through the last of the correspondence and bills, club duties made somewhat less tedious by Molly’s hot, skilled mouth sucking his cock under the desktop. He half-focused on her, her pleasurable ministrations background music for what he had to admit was a very cushy life. Ten minutes went by. Fifteen. She started to flag and he slapped her cheek lightly to re-engage her. Her body was warm against his legs. He looked down to see her moving her hips in a sinuous dance of aroused need, the black straps of her harness standing out in stark contrast on her light skin. The sight of it, paired with the pressure of her eager throat, finally nudged him over the edge into a long pulsing orgasm.

His body relaxed, spent. She took off his condom and a few moments later he felt her curling up under the desk at his feet. The night Clayton had brought her, she’d done the same thing, and he’d watched, charmed. It did feel nice. He ran his fingers through her hair, drifting, barely attending to his work. He let himself imagine yet again what it might be like to have a devoted slave like Molly at his service, day in and day out.

He wasn’t accomplishing anything. He shut his laptop and made Molly crawl beside him back to the bedroom. He checked her tiny nicks from the night before and was relieved to find them all healing nicely. He released her from the harness and cleaned her up in the shower, using it as an excuse to explore every inch of her. She clung to him, her hair turning glossy and black under the warm spray. He enjoyed the way she openly ogled him as he washed her, and offered her the soap with a half-smile when he was done.

She smiled back. Perhaps a little of her misery was lifting. She took her time, caressing and kneading his muscles, giving him the side-eye every so often. Such invitation. Reckless thing. He stopped her when she reached for his cock and took her fingers in his, kissing her once, twice. She shivered in his arms, even in the steam of the shower. He pulled her closer just to feel her small, lithe body against his. The water slid over her velvet skin as he kissed her again, running his hands all over the beautiful shape of her. Men were fun once in a while, but they weren’t soft and curvy like this. He squeezed her sore cheeks and she moaned. He slipped a finger into her wet pussy and she skittered closer, going up on her toes. Her begging look...my God.

His cock was about to burst.

He shut off the water and gave her an assessing smile. “You horny little piece of ass. You wanton sex doll. Keep a hold of yourself.” He toweled her off and pushed her in the direction of the bedroom. “On the bed, face down. No, wait a minute.”

He went ahead of her, opened a drawer and pulled out a folded drop cloth. He spread it over the bed sheets, right in the center. Wax was a bitch to get out of sheets. “Okay, now,” he said, drawing back. “Face down.”

Molly did as she was told, although she looked a little leery.

“Arms out, legs spread,” he said.

He bound her first, wrists and ankles, with leather cuffs. He left her just enough room to squirm. That would be important. As she watched, he moved around the room collecting all the things he wanted to torment her with—a white taper candle, cinnamon lubricant, a riding crop, and her nemesis, a slim silver vibrator.

He chuckled at her tiny, helpless whimper. Looking for pity? Fat chance.

“Don’t worry, kitten,” he said, kneeling beside her on the bed. “You’ll enjoy this very much. Well, parts of it.” He took his time, working a thin sheen of the sting-y lube onto the base of the candle in her line of vision. “Arch your hips up.”

She offered her asshole for the candle’s insertion compliantly enough, although she flinched when he struck the match. “Be still,” he warned when she tried to turn. He placed a hand on the small of her back to hold her steady as he lit the candle. “I want absolutely no movement. At least for a moment.”

She obeyed, clenching her fists. He stroked her back lightly. Her ass cheeks were tensing, no doubt from the nagging lube. When the candle had burned for a few moments and a little pool of wax built up, he pinched her on the inside of her thigh, right on a sore spot. She yelped and twisted, and then she screeched as liquid wax sprayed across her cheeks. He put his hand on her back to calm her. “Still.”

He let her think a moment, gather her wits as the pain of the hot wax subsided. This game was simple and really fun. If Molly stayed still, the wax pooling beneath the flame slid harmlessly down the side of the candle. If she moved, it splashed across her skin. So her role was to be as still as possible.

Mephisto’s role, as a sadist, was to make it impossible for her to stay still.

He released her and she wisely lay completely dormant. Barely breathing. He picked up the crop and saw her brace. With a flick of his wrist he caught her hard across the back of a thigh. She jerked and moaned as wax spilled over the top of the other leg. Her hands clenched in her bonds and she shook her head, then looked back at him. If looks could kill...

He cracked her on the left cheek, leaving a nice red rectangle and prompting an explosion of liquid wax across her right buttock. She tensed and threw her head back with a desperate sound.

He put a hand on the small of her back again, soothing her. “This is great, isn’t it?” he asked. The buzz of the vibrator drowned out her faint answering whine. “Now, this will be even more fun.”

Mephisto carefully parted her pussy lips until he located her swollen clit. He only teased at first, keeping the tingle on low. She let out a soft shuddery sigh and he knew she thought she had this. But as a few more moments passed, she understood that he wasn’t just going to edge her. He was going to make her pull away, and God help her if she didn’t pull away fast enough.

As the minutes ticked by, a low moan started deep in her chest. She was so rigid, so tense. He thought she’d be stiff and sore tomorrow from tensing up her muscles for so long. Her ass still clenched around the candle, which was burning ever closer to her skin. She whined, pleading in the only way she could for his mercy, but he ignored her, continuing his patient assault on her horny, sex-starved little clit.

A moment later, she jerked her hips, pulling away in a convulsive movement and making a horrible sad sound at the same time. No orgasm, only hot drops of wax. Ouch.

“Good girl,” he said, brushing a hand down her back before pinning her still again. “Such an obedient slave. Your Master is pleased.”

Was Clayton ever this cruel to her? Mephisto was sure he sometimes was. He let her rest and then fired the vibrator up again and made her endure the long dreadful climb to the apex she wasn’t permitted to reach, the long dreadful climb that would only bring more and more pain. He did it three, four more times. The last time she burst into tears. He was pushing it. He relented and turned off the vibrator, blew out the candle which had ended up being the perfect length. Perfect slave-torturing burn time.

He undid the cuffs holding her ankles and then knelt on the bed behind her, rolling on a condom. He slid his knees under her and lifted her pelvis. Her ass still clenched around the candle...her pussy was slick, shiny...unsatisfied. Her clit jutted out as if to beg for attention. He avoided touching it, instead driving his cock into her pussy. He fucked her quick and rough, his fingers scraping at the wax. Occasionally he twisted the candle, driving it deeper in her ass and pulling it out again. He would have liked to fuck her a long time, but her clasping pussy and straining ass had him rutting without thought, without control. Within minutes he was driving deep in her with his last frenzied thrusts, and then satisfaction was exploding out of him. The satisfaction of mastering her. Hurting her and thrilling her. Not letting her come.

He stayed still in her afterward, toying with the candle and stroking her back. She was relaxed now, overdosed on stimulation maybe, to the point where she seemed on the verge of sleep. He let her drowse as he rose to discard his condom, and then took her into the bathroom to peel the wax off all her luscious curves and clean her up again. She was dazed, pliable. Subspacey. “I’m very proud of you, kitten,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. It had been her hardest challenge yet. Not only had she been denied her own pleasure, but she’d been forced to hurt herself in the course of doing so. At first it had angered her, clearly, but by the end she’d given in. Not for her. For him, for his pleasure.

He decided to let her sleep beside him in his bed that night as a reward. He didn’t even put on the chastity belt, only used the wrist cuffs to fix her hands out of reach of her aching tingly parts. When he pulled her back against him, she melted into his arms. A conquered content slavegirl, sleepy and soft beside him...

Maybe it wasn’t her he was rewarding. Maybe it was him.

It felt strange to wake up beside her. Mephisto felt a delight tempered by guilt, like he was harboring stolen property. He had a thousand things to do, but he lay still beside her instead and studied her, the curve of her ear, the way her hair curled over her shoulder as she slept. She fit against him so naturally. In this quiet moment of repose he felt a strange psychic connection to her, but it was an unfounded one. That was the problem with him and Molly. Mephisto knew her to a point, and she knew him, but there were too many obscuring walls between them to really connect.

At any rate, she wasn’t his to connect with. But now, with her helpless in sleep and snuggled against him, it was easy to forget. It was just the two of them in that moment, unexpectedly and tenuously tied together, rather than Master and slave. Master and slave was preferable because it was simple, clearly defined. There could be no misunderstandings, no mess. But then it struck Mephisto that it was also a closed path. Stalemate. A loss of possibility wrapped in a collar and made to obey.

Ugh, such thoughts. He woke her, fed her, and returned her to his room so he could go out to the gym before the orgy. He had to work off some of the agitation she stirred in him. Rather than leave her harnessed, he bent her over and lubed up a large butt plug. She watched him with mute dread. Of course she didn’t want it, but it was for her own good.

“I know many of my guests will want to use your ass tonight, kitten,” he said, kicking her legs apart and landing a couple sharp slaps on her ass cheeks. “Open for Master.”

It was hard to get the plug in, but then she was so little. In, out, easing forward and back until the thick toy finally slid in and her body unwound with relief. If she was his, he would have worked on her ass every day until she lost her tension, her panic at each insertion. Then again, it was kind of fun to have to force his way each time. Ah... No, no time to fuck her now. He’d leave her to reflect on the fullness of her ass and hopefully do some squirming while he was away. It had been three days now since she’d been allowed to orgasm, three days since she’d been allowed to speak. Three days of silent helplessness, broken only by her one outburst at his injustice.

“Here,” he said, pointing to the place at the foot of the bed where he could monitor her on the camera. She knelt down, gingerly settling back on her heels while he gathered his keys and cell phone. He went to his bookshelf and grabbed a lurid little erotica title sure to have her clenching her thighs together. He placed it on the bed beside her with a smile.