Club Mephisto (7 page)

"Do you speak to your family?"

"Sometimes.
Birthday and holidays.
He doesn't keep me from them, but...we're not very close."

"Hmm," he said. She didn't know what to make of that
hmm
, but he asked no more questions so she turned and completed her task, wiping down the counters and hanging the dishtowel carefully over the bar beside the sink. She was just going to turn to him and await more instructions, but there he was behind her, his hand on her back.

"Hold the bar. The one you just hung the towel over," he said when she hesitated.

She reached for the bar with a sense of dread.

"Don't let go." He pushed down on her back a bit, so she was bent over the counter. Then he left and Molly stood, uneasy and nervous, listening for the sound of his return. Perhaps he would make her stand there holding the bar for eight hours, simply to test her. Perhaps he would come back and fuck her again. That would be the best she could hope for. But part of her knew he wasn't coming back to fuck her.

She looked over her shoulder as he re-entered the room a few minutes later, going hot and cold at the sight of the whip in his hand. It was like the one Master
used,
the one that had raised the welts just yesterday.

"Eyes forward," he said without anger or any other emotion. "Don't let go of the bar."

The whip came slashing down against her ass cheeks. She cried out as a second blow followed, and went up on her tip toes from the spreading, heated pain. "Oh, Master. Please!"

Another
stroke,
and another. She writhed, trying to evade him as best she could without letting go of the bar she clenched, but he only put his hand on her back and pressed her harder against the counter. Now she was helpless to get away and the strikes kept coming.
Stripes of fire across her ass, the tops of her thighs.
She cried out at each one, panicked pleas that did nothing to dissuade him. She knew her only task now was to endure what he wanted her to endure. If her pleas for respite and mercy aroused him, she was happy for that, but she derived no pleasure from the capricious blows of the whip.

She began to cry eventually, sagging against the counter and resigning herself to the crippling agony. He caught her with a blow just under the juncture of ass and thighs and she tensed again, trembling from the effort it took not to let go of the bar and run. Hide. Fight him if he came after her. He would defeat her easily and beat her much harder for trying to evade him. "Please! Please..." she sobbed, and then she fell silent. Nothing she could say would make him stop whipping her bottom, not until it pleased him to do so.

Finally, with one last slice across the center of her ass cheeks and the flange of the anal toy, he put the whip down on the counter beside her. She stood still, sniffling and snuffling, too tired to even move away from him.

"Hand me that wooden spoon, kitten."

At his quiet command, Molly looked up at the canister of tools beside her, and burst into tears again. But she did as he asked, and a moment later, the first excruciating smack fell over the already-throbbing welts of the whip. He spanked her hard and fast, and now she screamed in earnest, grasping the towel bar. Just as quickly, the torture was over, and she was reduced to a blubbering mess slumping against the corner.

He lifted her with one firm hand under her arm and turned her to face him. She swiped at tears but he pushed her hand away and rubbed his cheek against hers. The tender gesture and the smoothness of his freshly-shaven skin settled her. She reached out for him and he pulled her closer, nuzzling against her ear.

"I know that hurt you." His voice was a low tickle against her cheek. "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 with a touch of irony. "I wasn't punishing you for anything, you know."

"Thank...Thank you for explaining that, Master."

"You're most welcome.
Although, of course, you are never owed an explanation."

She was finally calming as the urgent pain in her ass and thighs downshifted into a dull, bearable ache.

"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."

Speech restriction.
Her Master rarely required her silence, but the idea of Mephisto doing so really scared her. How could she not communicate, especially when he threw her off guard so frequently?

He took her face in his hands and studied her, perhaps in a kind of sympathy. "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. Again she was fascinated by his eyes, so deep and beautiful. She was even more fascinated by the way he looked at her. He leaned in closer and startled her by brushing a kiss across her lips. Her tiny gasp was swallowed up by a deeper, harder kiss, and then she was roughly pressed against him, held in strong arms, the same arms that had just held her down and hurt her. She made a soft whimpering sound at that thought, and he released her. The moment was tense, and Molly felt terribly confused by the way she wanted him as much as she feared him. She touched her lips, feeling marked by his beauty and power.

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

He watched her another long moment, and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing. But then he shook himself from his seeming trance and started to unbutton his jeans. "You arouse me," he answered. 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.

* * * * *

She spent the next few hours cleaning Club Mephisto, banishing every speck of dust and polishing every surface. He didn't just watch—he helped too, disinfecting toys and implements while wearing latex gloves. Molly had never thought about how filthy a sex club like Mephisto's might get without careful maintenance.

He fed her once more, sometime just before dinner, she guessed, based on the rumbles in her stomach. Again, she ate kneeling on the floor, fed by his hand. He told her that she'd be put away for the evening, since Saturday night was the club's busiest night, and he wasn't of a mind to be keeping an eye on her.

By put away, Molly guessed he meant the cage.

After that, people started to arrive. Mephisto's employees...bouncers and bartenders, some of them people she used to know when she was on Mephisto's payrolls. He leashed her and led her around on her hands and knees as he spoke with his employees. She felt terribly exposed. She was still plugged from their scene that morning. She was no stranger to long-term plugging, but it humiliated her when people made comments about the end of the toy sticking out of her ass. Her cheeks were freshly whipped, sore and no doubt glaringly scarlet. One of the bouncers, one she used to know quite well, commented that he'd love to squeeze them.

"Have at it," Mephisto offered. "In fact, she's been plugged for some time. Why don't you make use of her ass while it's nice and opened?"

So right there, with the employees coming and going, punching time cards and chatting, the bouncer—Josh—knelt behind her on the floor and fucked her after Mephisto removed the anal toy. A small group gathered to watch but Molly just focused on Mephisto's shoes in front of her, and the leash hanging down from his hand. Somehow she felt like this was bearable as long as he didn't leave her here alone.

But he wouldn't leave. He had promised to return her to her Master in good condition, so he would monitor anyone who used her. Fortunately, Josh wasn't rough, and he finished relatively quickly, slapping her ass to dismiss her once he was done.

Without a word, Mephisto led her back to his rooms with instructions to shower and prepare for bed. Later, another silent, lovely girl came to gesture her into the cage and lock the padlock. Alone again in the dark, Molly contemplated her first day as Mephisto's temporary slave. She felt used up, and very tired. Her ass was still sore but at least she was free of the intrusive plug.

As she closed her eyes she could hear faint noise from the club: the low trance music, the repetitive thuds of contact play, and an occasional yelp or scream. She fingered her smooth metal collar, wondering where her Master was and what he was doing.
Wondering if he was missing her as much as she was missing him.

The Second Day

She was shaken awake the following morning, and found herself looking up into dark, intense eyes in the half-light. He was in a businesslike mood, and put her to work cleaning the club again after a light breakfast. This time he went out rather than join her, pointing at the cameras around the club and instructing her not to open the door for anyone. As if she would!

She had plenty to keep her busy, but without him there, time seemed to drag. When he returned, he brought delicious-smelling food from a local Indian eatery that Molly recognized, since it was one of Master's favorites. With a pang she thought of Master, missing him again. Had Mephisto known, and stopped there on purpose to torment her? Mephisto seemed torn between eating and showing her what was in the black boutique bag at his side. Molly recognized that logo too, since it was a fetish shop Master frequently patronized. In the end, he chose to eat the food while it was warm. She knelt at his side, enjoying
naan
and
momos
and spiced rice that he fed her with a fork. When she dropped some, he laughed and pinched her breasts, telling her not to be careless.

She truly enjoyed these moments when he shared food with her. Even though she was at his feet, she felt treasured and cared for. She sat in a very similar fashion beside her Master at his meals, but he rarely shared his food with her. She realized how very differently two Masters might handle and make use of their slaves. She supposed her duty as a slave was to adjust to whatever her Master desired at any given moment.
Whoever her Master might be.

"What are you thinking about?"

Her gaze shot to his.
Caught dreaming again.
Would he send her for nipple clamps to refocus her attention?

"Don't
worry,
you don't need to tell me. I can guess just from the look on your face. He's a lucky man to have such a devoted slave."

"Master...I am the lucky one, to be able to serve him."

Her words came close to contradicting him, but he let it pass. "Clear these dishes away and then come join me in the play space," he said. "We're going to embark on a little training I warrant you've never experienced before."

He took the black bag with him. Molly cleared away the dishes, the warm feelings from the meal dissipating into stomach-churning panic.
Some new form of training?
She prayed it wasn't torturous or painful. She wished she could have had more time, but the takeout containers didn't take much time to square away. She steeled herself to obedience and walked out to the club area determined to submit to whatever he subjected her to.

He was standing beside a padded table, almost like the one she laid on during her annual appointment with her Master's private physician. It had stirrups at the bottom and also attachment points extending from each side—which the other table didn't have. He patted it, with that small, hidden smile. Molly crossed to him and lay back on the cool black leather.

He began by fastening cuffs to each wrist and attaching her arms—spread wide—to the extending poles on either side. Her ankles came next, fastened to the stirrups with padded straps. He stopped then, pressing her thighs wide open, and slipped two thick fingers into her pussy.

"Wet, are we?" he asked. "Yes, bondage turns me on too."

He undid his pants and sheathed himself, then took hold of her thighs and pressed into her wet slit. She shuddered at the sliding, stretching pleasure of being impaled on his cock. He entered and left her in shallow movements, bumping against her clit and arching over her. His hands were braced on either side of the table near her hips.
She was going to come.
She was going to die from the bondage, the powerlessness. He slid over her g-spot, creating shivery pangs of sensation and a desperate need for release. She gazed up at him, taking in the bunching of his muscles and the hard definition of his abs. He was studying her, his eyes full of some unknown but rigid intent.