Club Mephisto (6 page)

She crawled out of the cage and wobbled on slightly cramped legs. He reached to right her and she mumbled thanks as she headed in the direction of the bathroom Lila had shown her last night. She wondered what time it was. She was hungry. For all she knew it was noon.
Or six in the morning.
There were no windows in Mephisto's bedroom, and the walls were dark concrete which gave it a dungeon-like feel. She took his order of "Take care of things" to include brushing her teeth, washing up discreetly, and combing out her hair. She hurried, not wanting to chance punishment or displeasure from him so soon. Well, no more than she'd already elicited.

When she finally returned to the bedroom he was waiting, staring at her with his powerful arms crossed over his chest. She froze, not knowing whether to kneel or stand. This was horrible. Had some part of her wanted this? She didn't know how to behave, what protocols to follow. Her distress must have shown in her face, because when he called her over his voice was mildly sympathetic.

"Come here."

She crossed to him, trying to appear as graceful and submissive as possible. When she got near, he reached out and pulled her against him. His skin was so warm against hers, and so soft, for all the hardness of his musculature. His hands roved up her back, squeezing, stroking. He leaned away and cupped her breasts, gently, just for a moment, before squeezing them and slapping them. Not too hard, but she still flinched. The look on his face frightened her. But his eyes...they were not black at all, but a deep, rich brown with flecks of gold in them. He was not the devil. Not truly the Mephisto of his name. He was just a man. She tried to relax, going loose in his embrace. He put a hand on her neck and used it to tip her face up.

"I've always found you the most enticing thing, kitten.
So beautifully formed.
Like a pretty vase. But vases are breakable," he added, seemingly to himself.

She bit her lip. Her heart was pounding in her chest as his fingers wound in her hair. He was going to kiss her...but no. He was only looking at her, looking deep in her eyes, as if for secrets.

"You're afraid," he said.

She blinked, and nodded slowly. "Yes, Master."

"Tell me why."

She thought a moment, phrasing her answer carefully as her Master had taught her. "You are a very strong man. I know to obey you, and I'll try, but there is nothing to protect me from you if…if you were moved to anger."

He thought a moment, tracing a circle on her hip. "Your Master's directives protect you, to a degree. I will not hurt you beyond the limits I promised him last night. And believe me, I am a man of my word. But will you move me to anger? I suppose you might. I know your Master has trained you just as he wishes you. I know you are a well-trained little slave. But remember something, kitten. I am not your usual Master. You will need to learn and abide by my rules this week."

She bowed her head. "Yes, Master."

He was scrutinizing her again, and she shifted under his gaze. His cock poked against her belly and his hands fondled and grasped her ass cheeks. She flinched a little due to the sensitive welts. He slapped her ass sharply.

"Nice marks.
Punishment,
or Master's pleasure?"

She thought a moment. "Both, I think."

He chuckled. "Not so perfect after all. All right, kitten. I'm going to get to know you a little better. Go kneel on the bed.
All fours.
Open and hungry, like a bitch in heat."

She turned to obey, his coarse words resonating in her pussy, making it slowly pulse to life. She crawled onto the white sheets as he opened a condom and rolled it on. She opened her legs wide, arching her back.
Open and hungry.
Fear and curiosity mixed with the sensation of him roughly grasping her hips. She felt the head of his cock probing her entrance and then he drove in, a daunting, humbling burn. He fucked her almost mechanically, with one arm braced on the bed beside her. She felt casually used, which always excited her. She could feel her wetness growing, feel him sliding more and more easily into her slickened channel.

"You like this?" he whispered. "Being fucked like a toy? You do, don't you?"

"Yes—Yes, Master," she gasped. Her hips arched back, seeking more, more violence, more aggression, but he only continued to fuck her in that controlled,
leisurely
way.

"I'm just getting a feel for you. And letting you feel me. You're going to feel a lot of me this week," he added with a trace of laughter, under his breath. "You're nice and tight, aren't you, girl?"

"Yes, Master. I try to stay tight for Master's pleasure."

"Good girl. Speaking of tight..."

He pulled out and pressed the head of his cock against her asshole. She clenched in a panic, self-protectively.

"Your Master told me you are anally trained," he said, sounding impatient.

"I...I am, Master."

"You still need lubricant?"

"He uses a little.
From my pussy."
And he's not as big as you. And he doesn't make me feel as nervous. I trust him. I don't trust you.

To her relief he pulled away and a moment later she felt cool lube plunged up into her asshole. Not that it would save her if he was savage, but he'd promised her Master not to hurt her. She willed herself to relax and press back on his thick tool. The lube eased the way and the head popped in. She groaned, aching from the uneasy pain of his entry, but he pressed ahead, holding her hips. She felt split, conquered. Again, he fucked her with a detached and persistent rhythm.

"Mm. Very tight," was his only comment for a while. She braced her knees against the mattress, trying not to collapse, trying not to pull away. She typically enjoyed anal play, and soon, even through the fear and pain, she felt pricks of hot lust begin to spread to her breasts and her clit. She wanted to rub herself, to assuage the shuddering build of pleasure as Mephisto drilled her ass. She collapsed forward onto her shoulders, bucking back against him. Oh, if only he would let her come—

He yanked her back up and grabbed both her nipples between brutal fingers. He squeezed until she cried out, pleading for mercy.

"Don't come," he warned.
"A little reminder.
If I don't tell you to come, don't dare."

Molly deflated, ashamed and disappointed. But if he didn't want her to come, she wouldn't. She knelt still and
open
and let him take her ass in an ever-increasing rhythm. She existed to serve him. She would be his vessel. Finally he came with a groan, pounding her ass cheeks with broad hips. He pulled away, leaving her spread and open on the bed as he sauntered to the bathroom. Still she didn't move, didn't rest her trembling arms or close her thighs the way she wished to.

He returned and she felt more probing at her asshole.
A toy—a large one.

"Can't let all that lube I had to use go to waste." He drove it home and she felt her internal walls adjusting to the broad intrusion. It was either glass or metal, because it didn't give one millimeter. "If we need to lube you up just to take my cock, you could probably benefit from some more training." He slapped her ass. "The correct answer is, 'Yes, Master, thank you for training my asshole.'"

"Yes, Master. Thank you for training my asshole," Molly repeated. Her legs were trembling, and worst of all, her clit still ached for satisfaction.

"Okay," he said, pulling her up off the bed.
"Time for breakfast.
I'm starved."

* * * * *

He led her to the adjoining kitchen and pointed to a spot beside the sole chair at the table. She was alert for signals that he wished her assistance, but he turned his back on her as he prepared his breakfast. She sat back on her ankles in silence, looking around the modern kitchen with her hands in her lap.

Once at the table, he fed her bits of pancake and omelet from his fingers, and sips of orange juice that never quite quenched her thirst. At the end of the meal he gave her a tumbler of ice water that she drained.

"Want more?" he asked.

Molly considered the fact that he might choose to keep controlling her bathroom breaks, and that a full bladder could result in discomfort for her. She gazed up at him nervously.

He refilled it and handed it down to her. "Drink if you're thirsty. You're going to be put to work today, and dehydration would inconvenience me."

She drank, searching his face for that ghostly faint smile. After that, he had her wash the dishes and
tidy
the kitchen while he sat in the chair and watched. She moved awkwardly, still aware of the plug deep in her ass and the fading welts on her backside. She was clumsy with the heavy iron cookware, and slow at washing it. She hadn't done dishes since she was single in her own apartment, and then she'd never cooked, but mostly eaten take-out meals and frozen dinners.

"Not much of a housekeeper, are you?" he finally asked.

"I'm sorry, Master."

"What do you actually do for him?"

She paused and turned to him, feeling like one huge cringe. "My Master keeps a housekeeper and chef for tasks like these. I am mainly to serve as...to serve for—"

"For his pleasure.
Pleasure slave."
He laughed softly. "You have the looks to pull it off. I suppose he doesn't like you ruining that expensive French manicure."

She looked down at her nails. She'd learned to do them herself, to his exacting specifications. Length of nails, color, even the angle of the curves was honed to suit his preference. But if Mephisto wished her to be the spoiled slave in his eyes, she wouldn't make the mistake of contradicting him. She only bowed her head and said, "Yes, Master."

"What do you do all day? He sends you out shopping?"

"I...I am mostly unclothed in his service. But he buys me some things, according to his pleasure.
For when we go out."

"How often does he take you out?"

"When it pleases him."

"
For his pleasure.
When it pleases him.
You know the lines well. Now answer my question. How often does he take you out?"

Molly thought a moment. "At certain times, like at the holidays, we attend more parties and events than other times. But I would say on average he takes me out three to four times a month. Perhaps four or five times a year, I help entertain guests in our home."

"Vanilla guests?"

"Yes, Master. Work parties and dinners."

"I bet you're amazing at that sort of thing.
Hostessing
."

"I try to pleas—"

"Please
your
Master. Yes. Thanks for the recap. Besides pleasing him, what do you do with your time?"

Molly swallowed, reaching back to touch the counter, feeling unbalanced by his persistent questioning. Somehow it seemed easier to take a deep, pounding
assfucking
than to endure this probing interview. "I... Well, I read."

"What do you read?"

"Erotica.
Current events.
History books.
Whatever Master feels will improve me."

"Do you watch television? Go online?"

"No. Not without his supervision."

"What else do you do, besides read?"

"I exercise. Master has a gym and a pool. Sometimes I help Mrs. Jernigan with housework. But I'm not allowed in the kitchen."

"Why not?"

"I don't know.
My Master's rules.
He controls what I eat."

He thought about that a long moment. "Controlling can be fun. And you enjoy this control?"

"Oh, yes, Master. I'm so thankful for it."

"What if he grows tired of all the work of controlling you?"

She drew in a soft breath, and swallowed hard. He stared at her, his cruel question lingering in the air between them like some noxious thing.

"You'll grow old, kitten. You won't be attractive to him forever, even if he does manage not to grow bored of you. What will you do then?"

"I don't know, Master." She spoke honestly. She didn't know, and she preferred not to think about it.