Club Mephisto (11 page)

Molly frowned, seeing his perspective, but wishing she could verbalize her own.
If you twist too much, Master, the toy will break.
She turned away from the haven of his warm skin, from the curve of his neck. He pulled his hand out of the harness and grasped her face, forcing her gaze back to his.

"You have to trust me, girl. I think you don't trust me. I know we haven't had a lot of time together, but I'm being careful. Perhaps you don't see it, but I am."

She tried to go soft, tried to be pleasing to him. It was a struggle.
This is so hard.
It was so hard to trust him, even though she knew he'd promised her Master not to damage her. A moment later, he stood her up and fastened the belt tight again.

"Listen, I want you to really clean and straighten up the play space today. There's a big party tomorrow.
A private party.
An orgy," he finally clarified. She swallowed hard. She'd heard about Mephisto's "parties" and the idea had always fascinated her.
Thirty or forty people, men and women, unchecked kink and sex.
Perhaps...perhaps tomorrow at the party he would let her fly around the room, so to speak. Release her from her enforced denial. She couldn't quite keep the hopeful speculation from her face.

"You're going to be fucked, yes. A lot," he said. "But no, you won't yet be permitted to come. I'll let everybody know. And girl, you won't want to be punished in front of everyone if you screw up. So beware. It might be best if we did a little more edging practice tonight."

Mephisto pinched her nipples, slapping her breasts lightly, while she fervently prayed to never have to endure edging "practice" again. "You know, I might not permit you to come at all until you're returned to your Master. What a gift that would be for him, no?
To return you absolutely wild with horniness.
Maybe he'd find he liked you that way. I could give him lots of advice about an effective denial program. And that harness is going home with you and him. Hopefully he'll make good use of it."

She blinked, barely restraining herself from shaking her head in horror.
No.
Master would never... Master loved to see her come... He would never... Would he? She hated that Mephisto appeared amused by her panic, and stuffed down those feelings, returning her face to an equivocal mask.

"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."

* * * * *

She cleaned until dinnertime, trying not to imagine the various equipment she polished being used at the upcoming party.
Being used on her.
She ached to be released from the harness, to be touched and used by Mephisto, but at the same time she dreaded it.

But Mephisto made no more mention of edging "practice" as he ate and absently fed her while leafing through a local scene magazine. Then he had her sit below his desk, licking and sucking him while he did paperwork and answered emails. She only half-attended to him, part of her mind thinking back to the last time she'd sucked him off under there, when her Master had just left her.
Master.
She touched the cool metal of her collar as she serviced Mephisto, her other Master. The Master she served with her mind but not her heart. No, her heart was already taken.

Mephisto reached down and slapped her cheek lightly, a silent reminder to focus. She applied herself to her task, drawing a shuddering orgasm from him at long last. She was tired of the taste of latex, the feel of it inside her when he took her. She yearned for Master's taste and Master's warmth.
Master's hardness and his semen on her tongue.
Mephisto seemed to have forgotten her, so after she removed his condom with gentle fingers, she laid down at his feet huddled into a curled ball. She dared to run her fingers over the smooth leather of her harness, between her legs and up over her hips. God, she missed coming. She missed talking, too. Mephisto had taken privileges away, privileges she had always taken for granted. It had challenged her submission, and more than once, made her question whether she was even meant to be a slave.

But of course she was meant to be a slave.
Just not
his
slave.
Some irritating voice in her mind said,
But
you still like him. You want him.
She did want him. She wanted his intensity, his sensuality, his intelligence. She wanted to serve him because he demanded it. She rebelled because she so often fell short.

But did she really fall short? She hadn't come in days, not since that one time she'd lost control the first day he edged her. But her mind—her attitude—fell short at times. She pledged to herself to do better. She was a good slave. She wanted Mephisto to think so. She wanted to believe it herself.

"Come, girl," she heard him say. His laptop clicked shut and she scooted out from under the table, crawling behind him back to his bedroom. She watched his ass as he walked, swaggered really. His confidence was so compelling—as was his gorgeous physique.
Don't get turned on.
No matter what he planned, she knew carnal release was not on the menu for her tonight.

He had her stand in the bathroom as he inspected the few unhealed nicks from last night's punishment with the whip. He took off her harness and washed her himself in the shower. He was so much larger than her, and his golden nakedness was intimidating in the enclosed space. His hands moved over her skin, surging into all her naughty crevices, washing away the evidence of a day of
unassuaged
arousal. She clung to him, her fingers braced against his iron arms. He was so breathtaking, his abs a neat, defined lattice. His chest was smooth power capped with broad shoulders that looked like they could hold up the world. She wanted to wash him too, wanted to run her fingers over every inch of his body. With a half-smile, he handed her the soap.

She took it, blushing under the stream of warm water.
Everything you think and feel is written on your face, clear as daylight.
She decided she would just stop trying to hide anything from him. The more she tried to hide, the more it seemed he dissected her every thought. Not being able to speak seemed to make her more, not less, transparent. With words, she could dissemble, spout pretty phrases. Without words, she was an open book.

She soaped him up, enjoying the feel of his skin under her fingers. She wondered when he would let her talk again. Was that another thing to be denied until her Master returned for her? She didn't miss the words as much as the sexual release, but she didn't want to forget how to use her voice. She gazed up at him, framing the question in her mind, to see if he would somehow hear and answer the way he'd uncannily done so many times already. But he only stared back down at her, his lips parted in a faint smile. Her fingers trailed down his stomach, stopping just above his steadily hardening cock. He lowered his head to hers and kissed her. She shivered, even in the warm steam of the shower stall. His lips parted hers, and his tongue played across hers in a teasing motion. She moaned softly, nipping at him and feathering her fingers over the ridges
of
 
his
abs and the indents of his iliac furrows.

He made a low growling sound that resonated in her chest. She grew bolder, pressing her breasts against his chest, feeling the delicious slide of her nipples against his skin. His hands were roving over her back, then up to squeeze her shoulders. Then down…down to caress her sore ass cheeks. He took her ass in his hands and closed his fingers on it, then slipped one thick digit down from the back to tease the entrance of her pussy. She danced around on her toes at the brief, fleeting contact, pressing closer to him, wanting more. She heard his soft chuckle of approval.
The denial is just a tool for winding you up so I can watch you writhe and wriggle for me.

She moaned again in her throat, missing words, missing the ability to beg him.
Please fuck me. Please, I'll do anything. Just fuck me and let me come.

He turned off the water abruptly, and Molly stood dripping.
Dripping water from her hair and the contours of her body, but dripping between the legs too.
He gave her an assessing look. "You horny little piece of ass. You wanton sex doll. Keep a hold of yourself." He pulled her from the shower and toweled her off roughly, then pushed her ahead of him back into the bedroom. "On the bed, face down. No, wait a minute."

He opened a drawer and pulled out a folded piece of plain ivory cloth. She watched with a sense of anxiety as he spread it over the bed sheets, right in the center. "Okay, now," he said, drawing back. "Face down."

Molly swallowed hard and did as she was told.

"Arms out, legs spread."

She reached her arms out toward each post of the bed and spread her thighs. He bound her with leather cuffs already affixed to his bed frame, leaving just enough room for her to twist a little—by design, she was sure. He left her then, looking through drawers that contained god knew what. As she watched with wide eyes, he threw a white taper candle on the bed, "hot" lubricant, and a slender black crop. And something else she knew all too well.
A slim silver vibrator.

She made a tiny whimper of a sound, which only resulted in a desultory snort of amusement from him.

"Don't worry, kitten. You'll enjoy this very much. Well, parts of it." He knelt beside her on the bed, working a thin sheen of the cinnamon lube onto the base of the candle. "Arch your hips up."

The candle slid into her asshole, deeply enough to make her uncomfortable, but not nearly as uncomfortable as when she heard the match. "Be still," he warned when she tried to turn. He placed a hand on the small of her back and she buried her face in the sheets as he—she assumed—lit the candle. Her ass was feeling warm and twitchy from the lube. The candle was slightly greater in diameter than a typical dinner candle, and that too made her want to squirm and shift. Her clit was already pulsing. He pressed harder on the small of her back. "I want absolutely no movement.
At least for a moment."

She obeyed, clenching her fists and willing herself to stillness. Then, without warning, he pinched the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh, and she yelped and shifted jerkily. Immediately she felt a spray of hot stinging pricks across her ass cheeks and upper thighs. She cried out, not realizing at first what he'd done to her. She thought of barbed wire, vampire gloves,
needles
. He put his hand on her back again.
"Still."

She sobbed softly, and her mind returned to coherence.
The wax.
He was holding her still while the candle burned down and the top filled with a pool of hot liquid. The predicament was obvious. If she stayed still, it slid harmlessly down the side of the candle. If she moved, it splashed out onto her skin. Already the first volley of drips had dried and cooled, but the memory of the pain lingered. She just had to be still. She
had
to be still. She felt onerously burdened and unbearably controlled.
Don't talk. Don't beg. Don't move. Don't shift. Don't come.
And above it all, his immovable hand pressed to her back, fixing her to the bed by pure power.

Then he released her, and the responsibility was hers.
Don't move. Don't move.
She saw the crop disappear from the bed beside her, heard the whistling sound of it in the air, just giving her milliseconds to brace—

But stillness was impossible as the fiery pain sliced across the middle of her thighs. She jerked and felt the spill of hot wax land just at the apex of her leg, below her ass cheek.
Two horrible pains to process at once, and nothing to do but lie still to prevent more pain.
Mephisto
, she wanted to cry.
Demon!
He was so evil. But in the midst of her pain her clit was alive with longing. She turned her head, knowing more pain was coming. He was making her wait for it. Another crack of the crop again her left
cheek,
and she pulled away, spraying wax across her right buttock. Two types of burn, but the wax burn was worse because it spilled and spread in an unpredictable pattern that was never the same.

His hand was on her back again, soothing her.
Making her wait while the hot liquid built up again.
Her pussy ached, empty and unused, while her ass clenched on the waxy instrument of her own torture. "This is fun, isn't it?" he asked lightly.

Her answering moan of protest was met by the soft buzz of the vibrator being switched on. "Now, this will be more fun." She felt his fingers parting her pussy lips, and she trembled with the effort it took to stay still. He nudged the tip of the vibrator against her clitoris, barely touching her. She could be still for this. She could endure it, with self control. The low hum was a pleasant tingle, arousing but not unbearable.

But as ever, he was patient. He swirled it around, a trail of teasing sensation, and then centered it again on her clit. She took quick, panting breaths. She could be still...but if she didn't move away from the delicious contact, her body would come with or without her intention. She whined, pleading in the only way she could for his mercy, but he only started the swirling, taunting movements again. She waited, steeling herself, trying to will the arousal away, trying to deny the peak that was coming, but then...