Club Mephisto (10 page)

"Didn't you tell me your slave was on orgasm restriction?"

Molly stared at the blond man, confused at first, but then outraged when understanding dawned. Mephisto gazed at her, and she shook her head with all the insistence she could muster.
No, no! I didn't! No!
 

"She's good at hiding it," Jamie went on, "but I felt it. I felt it on my cock."

Liar.
You're such a liar.
Mephisto had to see through him, but damn, he was a really talented liar. Mephisto considered another moment.

Ask me. Ask me, I'll tell you. I didn't.
She kept shaking her head, but in her desperation to avoid punishment, she was sure her denial seemed exaggerated and over the top.

Mephisto seemed to make a decision then, and it wasn't in her favor. "Let's take her out to the cross." She drew back, still shaking her head, as if she might finally get through to him. Jamie and Mephisto both pulled her up, carrying her resisting form out into the dungeon's play space. It was so unfair! So sickeningly unfair! If she'd known she'd be punished anyway, she would have gone ahead and had an orgasm. She dug her heels in when they got to the
cross,
turning to Mephisto, close to tears.

"He's lying!" she finally burst out. "I don't know why, but he's
ly
—"

His big fingers came over her face, squeezing her mouth shut. "And you're on speech restriction, bad girl. Who gave you permission to speak?"

She started to cry in earnest, the unfairness of the situation pressing down on her already defeated shoulders. She knew it was never about fair or unfair where slavery was concerned. But it smarted to be called a bad girl when she'd been trying so hard to be good, and to not even have enjoyed the orgasm she was about to be punished for. She still fought as they cuffed her hands and feet to the x-shaped cross with her back exposed.

"Get me the snake whip," Mephisto said when they were finished. Molly shook with bitter sobs, pressing her belly to the smooth wood in front of her.
Unfair or not, you are his to use or abuse
, her conscious whispered.
You chose this.

The first lash, a molten flick across her bottom, took her feet out from under her. She hung in her bonds, gasping for breath through tears. "Up," he ordered, delivering another one to the outside of her flank. She struggled, she fought, but she went nowhere. The lash kept falling, on the back of her thighs, her ass, her back and shoulders. Jamie was silent, but no doubt he was enjoying watching her take this punishment he'd caused. With that thought in mind, she tried to
steel
herself to dignified silence, but that only lasted a few minutes before she gave way to whimpers, and soon enough, screams. She never knew where he would strike her next—and each strike was clearly focused. He wasn't just flailing, but hit her in areas calculated to hurt. The sound of the crack of the whip scared her as badly as the searing contact. She started to shake, gritting her teeth to stop from begging for mercy. It had been fifteen minutes at least. Twenty minutes.
Half an hour.

Finally he stopped, but only to turn her around and fix her with her front facing out. Still she screamed, jerking in her bonds as he flicked fiery pain on belly, thighs, nipples, breasts. In between screams, she sobbed, and then she fell silent, praying inside her head. She didn't pray to God. She shut her eyes tight and prayed to Master.
Please, please, come and get me. Please, I miss you. I love you. Why did you leave me here?

"Look at me!"

Her eyes opened, focused and unfocused. Why did he look so angry? Jamie was watching over his shoulder, aroused, fisting his cock. If he tried to fuck her again she'd gouge his eyes out, with her teeth if she had to.

"Look at me," Mephisto barked again.

She stared in his eyes, flinched and moaned as he landed the lash on each breast. She knew what he wanted, although it was a struggle to get there. She disciplined her face to blank acceptance. He wanted her to acknowledge him as her Master, with the right to hurt her if he wanted, without anger or resistance on her part. She relaxed her body and let her arms fall open to him.
I am yours. I am yours.
She repeated it in her mind until she managed to convince both herself and him. Once her eyes communicated that submission he sought, he coiled the whip in his fist. He went to hang it up, returning with a set of clamps.

He wiped her tearful face with rough fingers as she stood unresisting.
I am yours. I am yours. Use me. Hurt me as you will.
Without words he applied a clamp to each nipple, and then drew a center clamp down her belly, down between her legs, where he parted her pussy lips with clinical detachment. He drew back her clitoral hood and clipped the last clamp directly to the throbbing flesh there. From violence and the battle of submission, she was copiously wet. Her breasts seemed to swell and her pussy clenched at the exquisite torture centered on her clit. Again she was climbing to the precipice of arousal. Not a precipice.
A plateau, where she would wait and ache and remain unsatisfied.

He left her there perhaps another half hour, retiring to the bedroom with his friend. Finally they came out and Jamie left. It was late. She was hungry and tired, and mentally exhausted from the trial she'd endured.
Still four more days to go.
The thought of it almost destroyed her. But it was really only three days, because this day was nearly over, and her Master would come for her sometime on the last day.
What if he doesn't come though?
some
part of her whispered.
What if he is delayed? What if you have to stay another day?
Another week?

That thought brought her to tears again. He stood four or five feet away, just watching her cry.

"It's hard, girl, isn't it?"

The tenderness in his voice hurt almost as much as the lash he’d wielded. He came and removed the clamps, then released her from the cuffs that held her. She didn't want to be touched, but she couldn't stand on her own and so he picked her up and carried her against his chest. He took her to the kitchen and set her on the floor, fixing a dinner in the stultifying silence. Molly was thankful for the speech restriction that had seemed a burden just a couple hours ago. If he had asked her to express her feelings or thoughts, she couldn't have done it. She wanted silence and solitude. She was stuck in a battle of wills between her outraged sense of justice and her desire to be a good slave.

When he sat and offered her food, she took it only with the greatest reluctance. When she almost vomited he didn't give her any more, but he made her drink water, holding the cup to her lips when she would have refused it. After that he soaked her in his tub, in warm, soapy water, carefully inspecting the few whip marks that had broken her skin. Molly knew they would fade by the time her Master returned, leaving no noticeable scars, but he still made her stand while he cleaned and applied antibiotic cream to each cut.

By that point she wished for nothing more than bed.
Caged isolation.
She crawled in gratefully when he opened the door for her, and was almost asleep by the time she heard the lock slip home. The last thing she thought before she drifted off to sleep was
three more days. Please let me survive three more days.

The Fourth Day

The dungeon looked different in the light, she thought. She was on Mephisto's lap, her back to his front, being fed lunch at his work table. She was plugged and harnessed again after a welcome night of respite. She couldn't have summoned the energy to masturbate last night anyway. But he was wise to have harnessed her now, because the days of teasing and denial were starting to take a toll on her.

And the teasing never stopped. He'd loosened the harness enough to slide a couple agile fingers down the front. He tormented her every so often, running fleeting touches over her slick clit. He'd use those same fingers to feed her pieces of bread and hummus, so she would taste herself on them, an added seasoning that only reminded her of her frustration.
Longing sauce.

She'd slept late, having vivid dreams of Master, and Mephisto had been kind enough not to wake her until she came to wakefulness on her own. She still felt groggy and was thankful that—for the moment anyway—Mephisto was in a relaxed mood. She leaned her head back on his shoulder and he absently toyed with her breasts between swipes at her aching pussy. She felt loose and surrendered, letting his warmth seep into her from the muscles at her back. He started humming a tune she knew, murmuring the words against her ear as he fed her a piece of pineapple.
Kiss, kiss Molly's lips. Kiss, kiss Molly's lips...
  

It was a song she knew, a song she used to listen to years ago, but it unsettled her to hear it from him. Not that his singing was bad. His voice was actually quite seductive, like everything about him.
Rich and yet sensually raspy.
No, it was something about him saying her name.
Knowing her name.
But of course he knew her name...she'd worked for him once upon a time, in another life. He sang it again, turning her head to lick pineapple juice from her lips, noting the gravity in her expression.

"What is it, girl? Forgot your name? It's Molly." He was teasing her. He kissed her again, more deeply this time. He was a passionate, talented kisser, a skill that melted her. Master kissed her often, but his kisses tended to have a paternal, doting quality. Mephisto kissed her like the boys used to kiss her behind the gym in school. As he kissed her, his fingers grazed her clit again and she moaned a feeble protest. He pulled away and she pressed her head into his neck, ashamed to be complaining. He didn't seem angry though. He threaded fingers through her hair, his other hand still pressed against her pussy.

"I know a lot about you, girl. You'd probably be surprised," he went on in a softer voice, almost as though he were confiding in her. "I know your maiden name was Molly Grace Belden, and your married name is Molly Grace Copeland. I know your birthday is April seventh, and that you were born and raised in Bloomington. I know you have an environmental science degree from IU."

Molly tried to block out his words, not wanting to remember her life before Master.
Not that she hadn't enjoyed it.
It was just...the past. Something she'd given up. No, not given up. That sounded so negative. She'd left all that behind for something better.
Master,
and Master's happiness.
His warmth and the soothing structure of his daily requirements.

"I know something else about you," he said. "I know you didn't really come yesterday."

She wished he hadn’t told her. The only thing that had made the unfairness bearable was that she thought he really believed she’d done it. But all along he'd known Jamie was lying. She hated him suddenly, even his soft voice, his tenderness. She tried not to let it show, hiding her face against his neck. Willing
herself
to subordination. He nudged her back, gazing down at her.

"You're wondering why I punished you when I
knew?
I was punishing you for speaking, for protesting.
For your tone.
And because it pleases me to hurt you sometimes just because I can.
Just because I enjoy pushing you to your limits and watching the breakdown."

His fingers moved again on her clit, splintering her attention with soft provoking taps. She tried not to move her hips, not to press against him begging for more. He chuckled softly, no doubt feeling the vibration of need she could never really hide.

"It's the same thing with the orgasm denial, kitten. I enjoy watching the
build up
, seeing how far I can tease and wrap you around my fingers. How much I can make you dance." She pressed harder against his neck, the quiet, pedantic tone of his voice mesmerizing her. Meanwhile, his finger kept stroking her in the same lilting rhythm of his speech. "The denial is just a tool for winding you up so I can watch you writhe and wriggle for me."

Oh...
ohhh
...
Despite her best intentions she moved her hips and whimpered a little. He wouldn't let her get away, but held her closer instead, subjecting her to his tempting ministrations. Her pussy was clenching on the protrusion inside, wanting more stimulation. Even an
assfucking
...

"You see?" He chuckled softly against her ear. "Not letting you come...it's like the rubber band on those little wooden airplane toys: You twist and twist them until you can't twist them anymore, then you let it go and watch them fly around the room."