Molly's Lips: Club Mephisto Retold (4 page)

“Can’t let all that lube I had to use go to waste,” he said, crossing back to stand behind her. He pressed the silver toy against her hole. It gave a little easier this time, but she still tensed and whimpered until he had the plug firmly seated inside her. “If we need to lube you up just to take my cock, you could probably benefit from some more training.” Her head was bowed, her legs trembling, perhaps from enduring the invasion in her backside. “The correct answer is, ‘Yes, Master, thank you for training my asshole.’”

“Yes, Master. Thank you for training my asshole,” Molly repeated.

“Okay,” he said, pulling her up off the bed. “Time for breakfast. I’m starved.”

*** *** ***

Mephisto took her to the kitchen and sat her on the floor beside his chair while he cooked breakfast. Simple stuff, but he liked a hot breakfast. Egg white omelets, pancakes, toast. She sat in silence and watched him. Perhaps she felt a little ashamed at her nakedness. Or her uselessness. Clayton had told him she couldn’t cook, couldn’t even boil water. If she was his slave, Mephisto would have taught her to make the things he liked most, but she wasn’t his slave and she was only going to be with him a week.

Once he finished cooking, he sat and ate, occasionally handing down tidbits from his fingers and sips of juice. She waited patiently. No begging eyes, which was kind of unfortunate because that would have entertained him. Afterward, feeling slightly piqued, he set her to washing all the dishes and pans by hand. She didn’t even have a clue how to do that correctly, but she tried. Useless for anything but sex.

“Not much of a housekeeper, are you?” he asked.

The dish she was holding fell into the sink with a clatter. “I’m sorry, Master.”

“What do you actually do for him?”

She turned to him, her face held carefully blank. “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,” Mephisto provided. “You have the looks to pull it off. I suppose he doesn’t like you ruining those expensive French manicures he pays for.”

She looked down at her nails, then started back to the dishes. “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.”

Mephisto rolled his eyes. “
‘For his pleasure.’
‘When it pleases him.’
You know the lines well. Now answer my question. How often does he take you out?”

Molly paused to think, carefully drying a plate and placing it on the counter. “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?”

Come on, Molly. Tell me something real. Something about you, not Master’s pleasure.
“I... Well, I read,” she finally said.

Thank God.
“What do you read?”

“Erotica. Current events. History books.” She shrugged. “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.”

Interesting. And deviant. “Controlling can be fun. And you enjoy this control?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, Master. I’m so thankful for it.”

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

He didn’t say it cruelly, but he meant to be cruel. To throw her off balance. “You’ll grow old, kitten,” he continued in a low, prodding voice. “You won’t be attractive to him forever, even if he does manage not to grow bored of you. What will you do then?”

She took a soft breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know, Master.”

“Do you speak to your family?”

“Sometimes. Birthday and holidays. He doesn’t keep me from them, but...we’re not very close.”

“Hmm.” Mephisto didn’t say anything else, only gestured for her to finish up. She ducked her head, seemingly relieved not to be questioned any more. She washed the silverware at the pace of a turtle and unwittingly scratched the bejeezus out of his favorite non-stick pan. Housekeeper from hell. She wiped down the counters and then spent a good minute and a half hanging the dishtowel just so over the bar beside the sink. Her drive to please, her meekness disturbed him almost as much as it endeared her to him. He crossed the kitchen, stood behind her and brushed a hand across the small of her back.

“Hold the bar,” he said against her ear. “The one you just hung the towel over.” She hesitated a moment, but obeyed. “Don’t let go.”

He left her there, stalked out of the kitchen to regain his composure. Knowing that she didn’t play—not like his slaves—it confounded him. She really lived for her Master. She lived under his constant control and even now, when her Master was miles away, she was still his slave. Somehow, that stirred up all kinds of uncomfortable feelings in him.

He sorted through his implements and selected a small black whip. He stalked back to the kitchen. Clayton’s welts were fading. He was going to put his own marks on her.

“Eyes forward,” he ordered, putting a hand on her back to brace her. “Don’t let go of the bar.”

He slashed the whip across her ass cheeks. She jumped but he held her still, delivering a second blow. “Oh, Master. Please!” she begged.

He ignored her, giving her two more strokes in quick succession. She shimmied and went up on her toes, but he had to give it to her—she didn’t let go of the bar. He pressed his palm harder on her back, held her down and striped the back of her ass and thighs until her panicked cries and squirming turned to resigned tears. Even then he kept going, breaking her down. “Please! Please...” she sobbed. In answer he whipped her right across the middle of her cheeks, over the base of the toy protruding from her ass.

He was as breathless as she was. He inspected the marks. No blood, but bright red welts that would certainly deepen to purple. She was calming, her sobs turning to sniffles.

“Hand me that wooden spoon, kitten.”

At his quiet command, she tensed and looked up at the canister of tools on the counter, and burst into a fresh round of tears. She reached for the broad wooden spoon and handed it back to him. At his nudge, she took a shuddering breath and put her hands back on the bar. Poor hurting slave. He’d do some allover reddening, some shock and awe to give her something to think about at the start of their week. He smacked her hard and fast over the criss-cross of welts from the whip. She groaned and then a scream broke loose, of fear or desperation. He stopped, not because she screamed, but because he was finished. He’d gotten her to that
place
.

He put the wooden spoon down and watched her cry for a moment, lying limp against the counter she’d so painstakingly tidied up. She still held the bar in a death grip. He put his hands over hers, forced her fingers to open and let go. He lifted her with a hand under her arm, finding her face wet with tears. When she reached to wipe them away he stopped her and impulsively pressed his face to hers. What was it about tears? Especially tears caused by himself? She reached out, seeking comfort. He held her, his face still pressed to her cheek.

“I know that hurt you.” She shook against him, not answering. He reached down to caress her scarlet ass cheeks. “I imagine your Master keeps your skin well-marked when you’re at home.”

“Ye—yes, Master,” she stammered through tears.

“Like him, I can’t resist marking that lovely ass of yours. Or at least refreshing the marks he left on you. For my pleasure,” he added. “I wasn’t punishing you for anything, you know.”

Again, a little shudder. “Thank...Thank you for explaining that, Master.”

“You’re most welcome. Although, of course, you are never owed an explanation.”

She was finally calming. He pulled away from her, running his hands down her arms.

“And I have enjoyed talking with you, and getting to know you a little better this morning. Although I warn you, very soon you’ll be put on speech restriction. So don’t get too used to these chats.”

She looked surprised at that. He knew this was all new to her, and not Clayton’s style. He took her face in his hands and gazed down at her. “Don’t worry. You’ll be okay. Speech restriction is just one more tool to help you give yourself up to me. One more layer of yourself to submit.”

“Yes, Master,” she murmured against his palm. She looked up at him then with a look of such vulnerability, such brave dread, that he had to kiss her, just once. His lips touched hers...so soft, so open. She made a little gasp, nearly inaudible, but it set off something inside him. He pulled her hard against him, wrapped her up so she couldn’t get away, and then he really kissed her. He thrust his tongue between her lips and searched her mouth like he could find the answers there.
Why are you like this? What’s going on inside you?
She responded at first, but then she stiffened and he let her go. She touched her lips, her gaze fixed somewhere in the center of his chest.

“Master, you honor me,” she said softly in the silence.

What the fuck did that mean? Why the fuck had he kissed her like that? What the holy fuck was going on? He rubbed the back of his neck and then his crotch, his cock straining against the front of his jeans. “You arouse me,” he said, like it was enough of an explanation. Maybe it was. A light touch on her shoulder had her falling to her knees. She sat and waited as he rolled on a condom, and then opened as he placed a firm hand on the back of her neck.

Oh, Molly.
He didn’t know if he said it out loud, or only thought it. When her lips were around his cock, it was hard to figure out anything at all.

*** *** ***

He put her to work for the rest of the day cleaning and prepping Club Mephisto for the weekend crowd. Yes, Molly wasn’t much of a housekeeper, but she did the tasks he gave her to the best of her ability, and with no whining at all. Around five he fed her again, and then attached her by her leash to the leg of his desk as Club Mephisto’s staff started showing up. Bulky bouncers and chatty bartenders, stone-faced dungeon monitors and professional D/s players he hired to keep the club’s scenes rolling when the paying customers were laying low. Many of them threw glances at Molly; she used to work there, after all.

Finally he took her leash and made her crawl around with him while he did last minute rounds. Surely she was glad now that she’d paid such good attention to cleaning the floor. She was tired, starting to drag. He let one of the bouncers use her ass, just because she’d been prepped so nicely by the ass plug and Mephisto was too busy to fuck her himself. Josh knelt behind her on the floor and fucked her in front of everyone. She seemed too exhausted to be humiliated. She was pliant, sub-spacey. Done for the day.

Mephisto led her back to his room and unleashed her, nudging her toward the shower. Dirty, used, sleepy slave. She’d be happy for her cage tonight. He hoped she slept well—all in all, she’d been a very good girl and she deserved it. He sent a short text to Clayton. “Molly’s fine. Sore ass, worn out. She misses you.”

He left out the part about kissing her. Twice. She was his to use anyway, Clayton had said so. Mephisto played with several girls that night, but he didn’t kiss any of them. He rarely kissed anyone. It was just her lips, he told himself. They were spectacular.

Oh hell. Tomorrow they’d have to play some new games.

The next morning was very much like the first. Routines. They were good for slaves. He fucked her pussy and her ass—and this time he didn’t have to use nearly as much force to take her tight hole. She didn’t want to endure another day of being plugged, undoubtedly. Quick learner. But he was moving on to other training today.

After breakfast he went out, leaving her under the supervision of the club’s many cameras. He made it clear she wasn’t to go anywhere at any time where she couldn’t be seen. He pointed out the few areas that weren’t monitored. The dark corners, the bathrooms and some of his back rooms. She wasn’t to go into any of those. She didn’t seem overly aroused this morning, which rather disturbed him, and cleaning the club was unlikely to make her more aroused. Still...he wouldn’t take a chance on her stealing any forbidden orgasms. Not with the plans he had laid out for her.

Mephisto rode through downtown streets to his favorite fetish store. He hadn’t put a slave into deep chastity for a long time, and he wasn’t sure why he wanted it so much for Molly now. Perhaps because she’d once been so reckless. Perhaps to see if she was still reckless now, and only hiding her impulses really, really well. He sent a text to Clayton, only to have him call back a moment later.

“Why exactly do you need my slave’s measurements?”

Mephisto laughed. “Let’s just say I want to buy a surprise for her.”

“You’re evil,” Clayton said. “Are you buying her a harness? Or lingerie?”

“A chastity belt. Now, do you know her measurements or not?”

As Mephisto suspected, her Master knew them to the half inch. He jotted down Clayton’s numbers for her waist and hip measurements. A little more small talk, and then conversation turned back to his slave.

“Is she behaving? You’re not putting her into chastity out of necessity?”

“No. Actually, she’s been an angel so far. It’s tough on her though. She’s in this haze of mourning, to be honest. God, Clay,” he added, laughing. “Don’t die, okay? Ever.”