Molly's Lips: Club Mephisto Retold (2 page)

Mephisto had to smile. Clayton might spoil her, but he had no compunction about throwing her under Mephisto’s bus to get his jollies. “I would be sure to put her through her paces while you were away. Not that she isn’t already well trained.”

“You’re a good friend,” Clayton said. “You’ve always been such a generous friend to me. We’ll set something up soon. A short sojourn at Club Mephisto—I’m sure Molly will be delighted.”

Mephisto wasn’t so sure, but that was part of the thrill.

It was just a few weeks after their conversation that Clayton called Mephisto about taking Molly. He had a last minute business trip, some real estate clients to meet in New York. Clayton called right from work, sounding harried and anxious, and was glad to hear Mephisto expected a quiet week.

Even if he hadn’t, Mephisto would have cleared it for her.

The club was in full swing when Molly arrived with her Master. Slow, pulsing house music accompanied throaty moans and shrieks from the various play spaces. Mephisto watched as Clayton affixed a silver leash to her slim metal collar at the door. She was as lovely as ever. Pretty shiny dark curls and pale skin. Lovely kissable lips and a curvy, feminine body, even though she was small. She reminded Mephisto of a kitten. She crawled gracefully enough at her Master’s side, but you got the feeling if you moved too fast, she’d leap behind him and cower, her eyes wide and frightened. He got a bit hard thinking about it—and this lovely kitten would be his for a whole week. Mephisto would take advantage, but not mindlessly. He would try to return Molly in better condition than he received her. It was his usual goal when tops handed over their bottoms for Mephisto’s special brand of “training.” But most of those training sessions were short. An hour. A day.

In this case he’d agreed to look after Molly for a week. What could he do to her in a week? What would he teach her? How could he broaden her submission and challenge her mind? Without, of course, royally fucking her up? That was the rub. Any extreme mindfucks were out of the question. Mild mindfucks? Oh yes.

Mephisto greeted Clayton first, before turning his attention to the woman at his feet. She glanced at him only briefly before she dropped her gaze. He tried to read her face, whether she felt excitement or nervousness, but her eyes were now fixed on her Master’s shoes. Mephisto touched her head lightly, to welcome her, or perhaps soothe her. “Your lovely kitten,” he said to Clayton. “She’s looking as sleek and fine as ever.”

Mephisto led Clayton across the carpeted common area, past the surrounding play spaces to the large table that served as his desk, tucked away at the back of the club. He was charmed by the way Molly curled up at her Master’s feet as soon as he sat. He wondered if she would make a fuss when Clayton left. Or
after
he left. Mephisto could always quiet her down in the cage.

Mephisto exchanged niceties with Clayton while he gestured to the bar for refreshments. He watched absently as Ginger fixed their drinks, remembering Molly working behind that bar, oh, years ago now. There was almost no way to reconcile the Molly he’d first met with the woman now resting under his desk. He’d met Molly when she was just out of college, sharp as a tack, and harboring a death wish. Not overtly. She’d never said to him, “I want to die,” but her actions proved otherwise. Drugs, partying, cozying up to all the wrong people who did all the wrong things to her. She’d lost her environmental job with City Parks and soon after lost her apartment. She hopped from bed to bed, sometimes partying around the clock for days. Once they became better friends, she was in and out of Club Mephisto, either manic or falling apart. Mephisto watched until he couldn’t watch anymore, and then he strong-armed her into working for him, just so he’d know where she spent her nights.

She’d been like a hollow shell then. Full of hate, wanting to please and yet despising herself. Mephisto had been at a loss, not sure how to handle her, but then Clayton had stepped up and put an end to all her nonsense for good. Somehow, within weeks, he’d turned Molly from a seething, neurotic monster to a contented slave. Mephisto wasn’t sure about the morality of it all; he just knew she had to be happier now. Didn’t she?

Across the club, a woman cried out at the height of a flogging scene, a cry of agony and joy. Mephisto’s whole life was power exchange, the thrill and emotion of the lifestyle, the cavernous dark club that served as his home, but even he was left puzzled sometimes by the people who moved in his world. Molly was still a puzzle to him.

What if she’s not happy?

Molly stayed so rigidly in role. Clayton was holding her face now, giving her water from a cup. So helpless, so dependent. It was sexy, sure. But all the time?

“Do you ever give her breaks?” The question was out, random and abrupt, before Mephisto could stop it.

“Breaks?” asked Clayton.

“Breaks. When she’s just your wife and not your slave?”

Clayton thought a moment. “You have to understand that, for us, they’re the same things. It’s just...me and Molly. This is how we are.”

“Of course. But she never rebels? Fights the dynamic?”

“Surprisingly, no. I know you told me she used to be very rebellious.”

“She was a hair-raising nightmare of a hellion, my friend.”

Clayton laughed. “Well, she’s not now. And no, she rarely rebels. Disobeys, perhaps, due to her own weakness or mistakes. But she takes her punishment and we move on.” The older man shifted and lowered his voice. “I would let her take breaks if she wanted it. If she needed it. Sometimes I wish...” He stopped, rubbing his chin. “There are times I wish I saw more of her than the slave.”

“Does she know you feel that way?”

“We’ve talked about it.” Clayton shrugged. “You know, we’ve been married for many years. We’ve had conversations of excruciating closeness and honesty, and she tells me this is what she wants. No breaks. No moments of equality.”

Mephisto looked under the desk, at Molly’s face pressed against her Master’s shin. “She seems happy. Content.”

“If she ever told you otherwise...this week, or anytime...I hope you would let me know.”

“Of course I would.”

“She might talk more openly to you than to me.”

“Or less openly. She doesn’t know me very well.”

Clayton grimaced, just for a moment, a small show of emotion from the staunchly reserved man. “She doesn’t know me very well either, to tell the truth. She knows her Master, and I know my slave. But truly, if I thought for a moment that wasn’t what she wanted...”

“As I said, she seems very content. If I learn anything to the contrary this week, I’ll let you know. My guess is she’ll be running to your arms as soon as I’m done with her.”

Clayton laughed, his spirits seeming to lift. “It would disappoint me very much if you didn’t challenge her this week. She’s become quite skilled at satisfying me and being my good girl. I only require her to look pretty, behave obediently, and service me sexually. But I believe you’ll be another matter.”

“I’ll try to be another matter,” Mephisto said with a grin.

“Feel free to handle her as you wish, within the limits we talked about. I just wanted to give you a sense of what she’s accustomed to.”

“Certainly. That helps me. And just to reiterate, these are the limits we’ve outlined here.” Mephisto handed over a temporary contract he’d written up for the length of Molly’s stay. “No scarring or body modification, no unprotected sex. What about withholding of food and water?”

“I’ll leave that to you.” Clayton shrugged. “I know I can trust you to act responsibly.” He reached under the table to pet his slave while they went over a few more medical emergency and legal release issues.

“Don’t worry, Clayton. I won’t break your toy,” Mephisto finally assured him. “I plan to keep her in my rooms most of the time, and even when I bring her out to share, she’ll be well-protected. As you know, my private parties are even more exclusive than my club events. I am very careful about who I allow to use my slaves. Now, if you don’t mind, may I address your slave for a moment? On her feet?”

“Certainly.” Clayton tugged Molly’s leash. She stood up beside her Master, looking slightly dazed.

Clayton slid a hand down her arm, smiling at her. “Master Mephisto wishes to speak to you, Molly. Stand up straight now, girl. No cringing.”

Mephisto half expected her to burst into tears. Clayton’s little silver leash dangled between her breasts, moving slightly at each deep breath. Mephisto tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

“Molly, I promised your Master to take good care of you this week with his permission, but I require consent from one more person.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said in a quiet but surprisingly level voice.

“Do you agree to act as my slave this week, giving me your complete trust and obedience?”

“Yes, Sir. If it pleases my Master.”

Mephisto smiled at the man to his right. Clayton scolded her in an impatient tone. “Answer for yourself, Molly. Do you consent? Leave me out of it for the moment. He requires your permission.”

“But Master! I don’t want to leave you out of it.”

“Enough,” Mephisto said, laughing. “That works for me, Clayton. I’m getting the sense that as long as you’re willing, she’s willing.” He sobered and looked back at her. “What a very smitten slave you are. Your Master is fortunate.”

Clayton shot him a look, and it struck Mephisto for the first time what a burden a relationship like that would be. This parting was certainly difficult—for both of them. For Clayton, to give up control, and for Molly to lose his control. Mephisto had many slaves he played with, but none of them were a full time responsibility like Molly was to Clayton. For just a moment, Mephisto’s confidence faltered. Could he do this? Could he deliver her back to Clayton without turning her into a total wreck?

“I suppose I’d better go,” said Clayton. “She’s cutting off the circulation in my legs.”

Under the table, her face was again pressed to her Master’s pant leg. Mephisto wanted to find it silly, but it was touching. “I’ll take good care of her,” he promised.

“Well then, she’s yours,” Clayton said, handing over her leash.

Mephisto watched Molly for signs of distress. Her eyes were wet, her expression bleak, but she was hanging in there. He tugged the leash to bring her up on her knees. “Bid your Master goodbye, kitten. You’ll see him in a week.”

Clayton leaned down to give her one last squeeze. Their hug looked natural, like they did it a lot. She clung to him, her face buried against the side of his neck.

“Now, no tears,” her Master said. He whispered something against her ear that Mephisto couldn’t hear while he ran a hand down her back and over her ass. Mephisto started to think he might have to unlock one of the back rooms for an impromptu goodbye fuck, but Clay finally pulled away from her. He rose and left, not looking back. Molly knelt like a statue, staring after him. All around them, erotic, theatrical BDSM scenes continued, but Mephisto was riveted by the simple drama of Molly’s tense shoulders and back. She tracked Clayton until he exited the club and then still she watched the door, like he might somehow materialize there again. Change his mind and return for her.

Poor slave.

Mephisto gave her leash a tug. “Eyes on me.”

She dragged her gaze to his. He made his eyes intentionally hard, so the moisture beneath her lids didn’t dissolve into rivers of tears. She looked beautifully fearful and miserable, trying so hard not to break down.

“I don’t think you’ll be worth much tonight,” he said. “We’ll begin tomorrow, after you rest. But first...”

He drew her forward, encountering no resistance, and had her kneel under the desk between his legs. Beneath her nervousness and sadness, he saw something else that pleased him. Curiosity. He was feeling it too. He’d been her boss many years ago, but never her lover. Never her Master. He unzipped, half-hard from anticipation. Her touch was hesitant at first, exploratory. She kissed and fondled him, and he relaxed, enjoying her skilled caresses. He handed down a flavored condom and then leaned back, spreading his legs slightly. She fumbled around with the rubber until he gave her leash a little yank of impatience. She’d have to get quicker with that.

When the condom was finally on, she went right to work. No one could see her, but they could probably tell from his face what was going on under the desk. He didn’t care. Oh, God, he didn’t give a flying fuck once she got going. Molly was every bit as talented as he’d expected her to be. She licked from the base of his cock to the head and back again, not letting the condom impede her. Her mouth was warm and slippery, and she kept a nice grip on his balls, not too loose and listless but not too tight.

“Holy Christ,” he said under his breath as one of the dungeon monitors came up to his desk. “What is it?”

“Is everything okay?” Jared asked.

“Everything’s fine,” he drawled back. “What do you need?”

“Madam Moxy wants to know if she can use the back stage at midnight tomorrow.”

Madam Moxy’s scenes tended to get out of hand, but she was a popular figure in the community. Mephisto looked at Jared. “Are you working?” He nodded. “Ask Sam if he can come in. The two of you can put down any shit that gets stirred up.”
Oh my God, she sucks cock like an angel.
He bit back a groan and eyed Jared. “Anything else?”

“No, sir,” Jared said, finally seeming to notice that Mephisto’s attention was otherwise occupied. Mephisto sighed and reached down to grip the back of Molly’s neck and ease his cock a little deeper in her throat. No flinch, no resistance. After a long, thrilling stroke he let her take a breath and then invaded her mouth again, basking in the warmth and tightness of her lips.

He looked around the club absently, letting her serve him, letting the pleasure pulse and grow at the base of his pelvis in time to the music in the background. A few other patrons walked by, greeting him with knowing smiles. After ten minutes or so, it was too hard to focus on anything but the pleasure he felt. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair, enjoying every delicate kiss, every bold stroke of her tongue. He was gripping her leash now, his hand opening and closing on the table.