Molly's Lips: Club Mephisto Retold (9 page)

“Some reading for you,” he said. “Don’t want you to be bored.”

Mephisto felt a lot better once he got to the gym. He worked his ass off, losing himself in honing his body. Narcissism, now that was a simple thing. He supposed, in some way, he had to believe himself entitled to the dominion he lorded over others. Or maybe he was just an egotistical, selfish prick. He certainly enjoyed the thought of Molly sitting back at his home next to his bed, her aching pussy weeping for completion, her ass stretched out by his plug.

He’d have to let her go in three days. Less than three days. He would need to start letting go of her soon.

Later. He’d worry about all that later. He did some laps in the pool and showered, imagining Molly freaking out from horniness bent over the erotica book. But when he returned, she was sitting just as calm and unruffled as could be. He felt a moment of rage, thinking she might have masturbated, but then he noticed the book sitting exactly where he’d placed it on the bed.

He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’d already finished and replaced it. “I expected to find you reading. What did you think of the book?”

He could see understanding dawn. Yes, she was supposed to read. He’d been fantasizing about her frustration all afternoon. “You didn’t read it? At all?” She bowed her head at the irritation in his voice. He stalked toward her. “Why do you think I left it there beside you? As I said, it was reading for you. Reading I expected you to do.”

She was already cringing as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her, throwing her down over his lap. Bad little slave, to circumvent all his fun with her self-protective choices. He lectured her sharply, each word punctuated with a similarly sharp smack of his hand against her ass.

“How forward of you, slave, to just assume a choice. I don’t give you choices. I give you instructions.”
Smack. Smack. Smack.
He pressed the plug deeper in her ass, then spanked her again even harder so she whimpered and strained against him. “I give the instructions in this relationship. You follow them. If I take the time to pick out a fucking book and give it to you, you fucking—”
Smack.
“Read.”
Smack.
“It. Don’t you?”
Smack. Smack. Smack.

She cried, but she didn’t struggle. She understood how badly she’d fucked up, taking her punishment with the stoicism of the guilty. But oh, how she cried, and the harder she cried, the harder he knew he had to punish her. With a growl, he stood and pushed her facedown over the bed. He fumbled with the buckle of his belt, yanking it out of his jeans and doubling it over. He leaned his knee on the small of her back to hold her down and then brought the belt across her ass full force. She wailed miserably, eying the book still lying on the bed right near her face.

He lashed her again, and then again, the blows resounding loudly in the room, joined by her pitiful cries and his own heavy breaths. “From now on, you don’t do what you decide you prefer. You do what I tell you to do.”
Whack!
“Open the book, now, and start reading.”

Molly scrambled to get the book. She opened it with trembling fingers and tried in vain to stammer out the title and the author’s name, then cried out as the belt fell again. Her voice, unused for so long, sounded scratchy and thick. She tripped over syllables, trying to form the words.

“Louder, so I can hear you!” He brought the belt singing down over the red marks from the previous blows, and she jumped under the pressure of his knee.

She started over again, trying to enunciate through her whimpers. She stammered through the opening paragraphs as her tears dampened the page. He continued to beat her until he thought she’d had enough, until her ass was deep and uniformly red. He lifted his knee from her back and flung the belt down beside her.

“Keep reading,” he barked when she paused. “Read the whole damn thing. Out loud. Don’t move until you’re done. You deserve worse, but I want my guests to have a chance to mark you at the party,” he said with a final frustrated slap to her rear. He stormed back out to the club and paced around doing mindless tasks until he calmed down. Not that he’d been out of control. She’d disobeyed and he’d punished her, which was certainly within his rights. He’d punished her to the degree she needed to feel adequately corrected.

No, the problem was that he felt too invested in her. Her failures felt like his failures. He wanted her to be perfect, just as Clayton trained her to be perfect, just as Molly herself endeavored to be perfect. He sat and had a drink, listening to her voice struggling through the story. Well, at least now she’d gotten her chance to speak, perhaps not in the way she would have wished. As she was whimpering her way through the last chapter, Mephisto went back to her. She was still bent over the bed, her ass fading from scarlet to a dull shade of reddish purple. He asked her a few questions about the book to be sure she’d actually taken it in—not that arousal was very likely for her at this point.

“Put the book on the shelf, and then return to kneel here before me,” he said, going for a condom.

She limped over to put up the book, then returned and fell to her knees, her eyes down, head bowed. He took her face in his hands and thrust into her mouth, not being gentle. She tried hard to please him, to make amends for her slip up. Over time, he decreased the violence of his thrusts, even stroked a hand over the sheen of her night-dark hair. The sharp pleasure of his orgasm arrived with a sense of mellowing, almost fondness for her.

He tipped her face up. She looked like she might speak, plead or apologize, but he silenced her. “No. No talking. I don’t want it. Just listen to me. You screwed up and you were punished for it. You’re forgiven, but don’t ever assume a choice again when it’s not expressly given. Nod if you understand me.”

She nodded passionately, her wide expressive eyes communicating everything she couldn’t say.
I’m sorry. I hate to displease you. Please smile at me and tell me everything’s okay.
With a small sigh, he traced fingers across her tearstained cheek, then leaned down to kiss her. She shuddered, closing her eyes. Such delicate lids, fluttering with emotion.

He cradled her face in his hands, feeling his own strange wave of sentimentality. He turned away, schooling his thoughts back to his purpose. Training. Slave development. “We won’t let this derail the progress you’ve made. The party’s starting soon and I want you at your best. You’ll serve in whatever way is requested. Everyone there will be a trusted friend or client who can be depended on to follow the rules. You play your role...slave and plaything. And obviously,” he added with emphasis, “you are not to come. You will exist tonight for others’ pleasure, not your own. Nod if you understand me.”

She nodded again, and he led her out to the kitchen to eat, and then to wash up and have the plug removed. He buckled his own house collar around her neck above her slim silver one—a signal she was club property to be shared—and led her out to the main area just as the other help was starting to arrive.

*** *** ***

Mephisto enjoyed orchestrating sex parties. Maybe it wasn’t a traditional career choice, but it was his career choice and he took pride in doing it well. Often they were anything-goes type orgasm blasters, but other times he enjoyed more structured events, with a clear delineation of who was bottom and who was top.

Tonight’s party would be one such party. All the bottoms—seven females, including Molly, and three males—wore collars. All the tops—and there were significantly more—didn’t need anything to broadcast their dominance. This collection of players simply oozed dominance from within.

Mephisto watched Molly, entertained by the way she was simultaneously trying to stare and appear submissive at the same time. There was certainly a lot of cock to look at. Mephisto had invited thirty male tops to attend, and only five had declined. It wasn’t long before Molly was grasped from the corral of subs and slaves and put to work sucking off a well-hung gentleman. Other females were shared by their Masters, many of them strapped to dungeon equipment and tormented for the entertainment of the assembly.

Mephisto kept an eye on it all with the help of some dungeon monitors. Of course, everything that went on was consensual. His monitors had instructions to break in and question any s-type who seemed too spacey to use a safe word. There was a line as far as brutality, and his usual patrons knew not to cross it.

Soon the tops were doubling up on the bottoms, one of the prime reasons he maintained such an uneven ratio for his parties. The tops liked the power trip of ganging up on the bottoms, and the bottoms...well... He only had to look at Molly, filled with cock on either end, to know that she was turned on. One man was buried in her throat while another knelt behind her, drilling her asshole. Her butt was still red and undoubtedly sore from his hand and his belt, not to mention the other various beatings of the past few days. At least her whip marks were fully healed.

The other bottoming girls and guys found themselves similarly occupied. Two of the male bottoms were ordered to fuck while a group of tops surrounded them and watched, shouting ever-raunchier instructions. Another was being alternately beaten and fucked while strapped to a spanking bench. Mephisto loved the exuberance of male bottoms, but he also loved the vulnerability of the girls. Lila was sobbing in one corner, straddling a wooden horse and having her nipples tortured with a crop. A few of the other subs were hard at work sucking off and rimming their Masters.

Lorna had been annoyed not to be invited, but it always caused problems to mix dommes in with a bunch of male dominants on a testosterone binge. Somehow, one or two always decided the dommes secretly wished to submit, and only needed to be taken in hand by the right man. Funny to watch, but a distraction at best. At worst, a trip to the emergency room to have a stiletto heel removed from a rectum. No, the dommes got their own night.

Testosterone issues aside, Mephisto knew all these men, respected them all as responsible players in the scene. They were long time friends of the club to be invited to such a party, and most of them willingly shared their slaves if they were in a relationship. The majority of the straight ones took a turn with Molly, even if it was just a grope or a slap. Clayton rarely shared, especially at big parties like this, so the men were taking their shot while they could. She ended up taking a lengthy flogging shackled to a St. Andrew’s Cross, followed by fucking in her pussy and ass. Well, he’d warned her about the assfucking, not that she seemed to mind it. He could see it in the way she breathed, her facial expressions. She was so hot, so horny. So unsatisfied.

All the orgy guests understood that she was on orgasm restriction. Some of them teased her on purpose, while others used it as an excuse to fuck her quickly and mechanically, treating her as a disembodied sex doll. Knowing Molly, that probably turned her on most of all.

Next, Molly endured a trip over the spanking bench at the behest of his friend Aaron, who had a strong penchant for rattan canes. Mephisto knew Aaron knew what he was doing, but Molly still suffered. Every so often, as Molly screamed and struggled in her bonds, Aaron would walk around the bench and tighten the screws on her nipple clamps. Devious. Mephisto watched the whole scene with his cock bucking in Lila’s mouth. Molly’s ass had to be killing her though. She crawled back to the corral at the end of Aaron’s arm and settled back very gingerly on her heels. Her face was a mask of distress and discomfort. If only she realized that made her even more attractive to the tops, most of whom were sadists like Mephisto.

Low, sultry house music throbbed over the speakers, an aural bump and grind to accompany the players’ movements. Again and again Molly was beckoned, clutched, subdued, clamped, impaled. She was double penetrated with cocks and dildos, made to suck cock after cock, sometimes more than one at the same time. No sooner was she released from a top than another cock would be pressed against her pussy or her ass. She was slapped, nudged, forced to the ground and pulled up again for more usage. She grew tearful but she never cried, never resisted. And in all this, all her dismay and confusion, Mephisto observed her unmistakable arousal. What must that feel like to be fucked over and over, to be, as a masochist slave, used repeatedly and cruelly and not permitted to come? For a normal woman, it would have been hell. For Molly, it was teasing beyond belief.

As the third hour passed, the party began to wind down. The bottoms were used up, the tops were fucked out. The other subs had had no prohibitions against orgasm. Most of them left on their Masters’ arms glowing and satiated. His own orgasmic Lila had come several times, twice at his own hands. Only Molly still seethed with unassuaged need and longing. He only had to look at her to know she was dangerously worked up. He applied some clover clamps to take the edge off her sex high and cuffed her firmly to one of the crosses until he could see off the rest of the guests.

He took his time returning to her. Ten minutes at least, and she was still simmering on high boil in her bondage and clamps. He smiled at her and reached between her legs to find an ocean of wetness. Since all the men had worn condoms, it came from only one place—her own frustrated body. He slid fingers through her juices and tapped her clit, just once. She sucked in her breath and jerked as though he’d slapped her. Her eyes were wide and wet as he leaned closer. A cornered animal indeed.

“You’re wound so tight, my lovely little slavegirl,” he murmured. “Would you like me to touch you again?”

She gasped and shook her head, then nodded. He laughed. She was truthful at least, in her crisis. “I don’t think I’d better. I’m going to release you now.” He uncuffed her hands and for a moment she just held them stiffly at her side, as if she feared being in control of them again.

Ah, her gaze was so desperate. She was in so much erotic pain, clamps notwithstanding. His poor slave wanted to come so, so badly. He tapped her clit just a moment, a whisper of a touch. She sobbed...reached out for him...and then toward her mons.