Molly's Lips: Club Mephisto Retold (7 page)

“You wanted to play hard,” Mephisto said with a shrug.

“Fuck you. You know I have a fucking show to do tomorrow.”

“Poor baby.”

“You’re such a ruthless bastard.”

“And you love me that way.”

Jamie raised a glass to him and took a deep drink of the Irish pint, then put it down on the bar with a bang. “Don’t know how you can stand to play with those little girlies though. And fuck them,” he added with a shudder.

“That’s because you’re a gay man,” Mephisto said drily. “I have half a mind to make you fuck her later.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“You could if I ordered you to, my friend. Or would that be too ruthless? Technique wouldn’t matter,” he added with a smirk. “She’s not allowed to come.”

Jamie smiled and leaned his head on his hand. “You’re a sick fuck. Very nice. She can’t
ever
come?”

“Oh, eventually I’ll let her come. That’s the whole point of it, to get her worked up to the point where she’s out of her mind, and then when she’s finally allowed to come...” Mephisto threw his hands out in an explosive movement. “Complete craziness. It’s fantastic.”

After a moment of silence, Jamie said, “So...when you finally settle down with someone, I guess it’ll be some slavey girl like her.”

“When I finally ‘settle down?’ Since when can you not hold your alcohol?”

“Ah.” Jamie shook his head. “You’ll settle down one day. You say you won’t, but you will.”

“Fuck you.” Mephisto laughed, but his thoughts went to Clayton. For many years, even before Mephisto was established, Clayton had been a Seattle scene regular. A party guy. A slut Master, until he found his Molly. Clayton had settled down with her within the year. “Who do you think I should settle down with?” Mephisto asked his friend.

Jamie winked at him. “Me, of course.”

Mephisto chuckled. “When you grow a nice set of tits.”
Like Molly’s.
Would he settle down with a slavegirl like Molly someday? The idea of settling down with anyone was so alien to Mephisto he couldn’t even picture how it might work. Jamie had found any number of “true loves” in his life, all of which generally burned out within a year. Mephisto watched his friend fall apart after all of them and thought that was infinitely worse than remaining alone. But years from now, when Mephisto was in his mid forties...his mid fifties... When he was lying in bed, dying, who would be at his side? Clayton knew who would be at his side. A beautiful devoted slavegirl.

Maybe. Would Molly remain Clayton’s slave years from now? Forever? Would she ever stop wanting to be a slave? That was the type of thought that took his breath away. Consensual slavery could end at any time, since consent was the only thing that made “slavery” okay. “Jesus,” Mephisto muttered into his beer.

Jamie was hiding under a cap and tinted glasses, but it wasn’t long before they were found out. The Irish band hammering away in the corner launched into a cover of one of Jamie’s songs and he was obliged to sing a few before they could slip away. By then there was a crowd outside and they had to escape into a cab. They took a circuitous ride around the city so no one would follow them back to the club. Mephisto thought about Molly as Jamie groped him through his pants. Would she ever stop wanting to be a slave? What would she become then? Would her value be more, or less? To Clayton, to the world? To Mephisto?

Mephisto felt himself falling into a black mood. Back at the club, he did force Jamie to fuck Molly, an act both slaves found distasteful, although Jamie was sustained through the copulation by Mephisto’s big hard dick in his ass. Molly didn’t look at either of them as she drifted in deep slave usage mode, and Mephisto didn’t force her to tune in. Instead he drilled Jamie until his gay friend came, so he would have to live with the fact he’d fucked a woman to completion. Mephisto’s own orgasm wasn’t as powerful as the last. It was tempered by lingering irritation, so when Jamie turned to him and lied through his teeth that Molly had had an orgasm, Mephisto decided to play along. He turned hard, accusing eyes on her.

Molly was devastated, shaking her head with all the insistence she could muster. Her lips trembled helplessly with the need to defend herself. When Mephisto dragged her into the dungeon, she finally blurted out, “He’s lying! I don’t know why, but he’s ly—”

Mephisto clapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her close. “You’re on speech restriction, bad girl. Who gave you permission to talk?”

It was a cruel, cruel thing to do, but he was allowed to be cruel to her. She burst into tears as Jamie helped Mephisto cuff her to the St. Andrew’s Cross with her back exposed. What a lying piece of shit Jamie was, but his petty jealousies were one more trial to lie at Molly’s willing feet. There was a certain melodrama to it all. She collapsed at the first lick of the lash, her legs going from under her. He’d seen her take whips just fine from Clayton, so her struggling and misery undoubtedly stemmed from the injustice of her situation. Mephisto knew he should be beating Jamie right now, not Molly. Jamie knew it, and Molly too. But sometimes, power exchange was about poking a cornered animal until you found the point where it snapped.

“Up,” Mephisto ordered, landing another one on the outside of her flank. She struggled, she fought, but Mephisto continued, determined to subdue her. After twenty minutes or so he had Jamie turn her around. The look she gave the man...such vitriol. Such hatred in those eyes. Mephisto paused, entranced. There she was. That was the Molly he remembered, right there.

She was still there.

He lifted the whip to her again, tormenting licks and stripes. It was the continued assault that broke her down, not the pain of any one strike. She screamed, she sobbed, jerking in her bonds as he flicked fiery pain on belly, thighs, nipples, breasts. In between screams, she sobbed, and then she fell silent, closing her eyes. Finally, submission. But he didn’t want it, not now, when he’d seen the other Molly hiding in there.

“Look at me!”

Her eyes snapped open, moved to Jamie and fixed on him with that same terrible anger. Leave it to Jamie to get aroused by that. He was fisting his cock, enjoying the violence. But he’d given up his last chance at pleasure with this stunt.

“Look at me,” Mephisto barked again to Molly.

She stared in his eyes and held his gaze as he flicked the whip again, a sting on each breast. She’d cried so much her face was ashen, glowing. Then he saw her relax and let it all go. He let it go too, and let the whip fall still. Enough. He went to the wall to hang it up and get a set of clamps. When he came back she was watching him, not angrily, not sadly. Just resigned. He wiped her face with his palms and subdued the impulse to kiss her. Instead he applied the clamps to his slave’s tits and clitoris with businesslike detachment and left her hanging there.

“Come,” he said to Jamie. His friend loped behind him to the bedroom. Once inside, Mephisto took a swing at him that sent him to the floor. Jamie hissed in protest, but wisely stayed down.

“Don’t ever, ever lie to me again,” Mephisto said.

Jamie held his face, staring up at him with the same anger Molly had turned on him before. “Who gives a shit?” he said. “It seemed to serve your purposes. She’s just a fucking slavegirl, right?”

“Never lie to me again,” Mephisto repeated. “Whether it serves my purposes or not. It makes you look small, Jamie. Really small. And I don’t like you that way.”

Later, after Jamie left, Mephisto went to face her, his silent martyr. His miserable slave. As he stood and watched her, she started to cry again, horrible emotionless tears. She was still in there. Molly. The old Molly. That was the force, the power she subsumed to serve the man she loved. Mephisto wanted to go on his knees before her. He wanted to worship her.

He wanted her.
He wanted that depth of devotion for himself.

“It’s hard, girl, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.

He took off the clamps and tried to feed her, but she was too upset. He didn’t have much appetite either, although he made her drink a little water, sip by halting sip. So many tears. She’d be dehydrated. He bathed her, checking over the whip marks. A few had drawn blood, and he treated them with antibiotic cream.

He put her to bed in the cage without the harness and locked the padlock with feelings of euphoria and yet devastation. He watched her until she fell asleep—it was perhaps three minutes—and then he still sat and watched her chest rise and fall in sleep, his hands threaded through the bars.
Molly, I’m sorry for all the lies. The dishonesty and jealousy. Jamie’s and mine.

Mephisto let her sleep. She’d earned it. When she woke, there was a new tension between them. A loss of trust, but a capitulation too. Yes, she couldn’t trust him, but yes, she had to obey him anyway. Of course it upset her, but that was okay.

He fucked her on the floor right outside the cage, a re-orienting and another opportunity to frustrate her libido. The cruel scene of the night before hadn’t dampened her need the least bit. She’d been wet as the ocean when he’d clamped her clit.

She was still wet now, her eyes begging and hopeless all at once. After breakfast he edged her again, fucked her ass for a long time, and then locked her down tight for the day, dildos and all.

The orgasm denial was like an experiment, Molly the only subject. What was going to happen? How far could he push her? Would she eventually rebel? Mephisto realized that’s all he really was, a mad scientist of humanity. He wanted to understand people, like that might bring him some peace, some feeling of accomplishment. It was a quest for knowledge that never ended.

By lunchtime he wanted to fuck Molly again. She was a compulsion, an addiction. He wanted to be thrusting his dick in her all the time. He pushed her to her knees in the kitchen and fucked her face and Jesus goddamnit, how he ached to come in her mouth. Not in the condom, but deep in her luscious throat. He texted Clayton while she served him. Missed a few letters.
Moly is fine. blowig me now.
Clayton would get the general idea. Afterward, he held her in his lap and fed her, enjoying her tremors and the sexual frustration communicated in the tenseness of her legs. When they finished eating, she laid her head back against his shoulder and he held her, rather than pushing her down to the floor. He slipped fingers down the front of her harness to tease her pussy. He thought he could have sat like this with her for hours. He turned her head to lick and kiss her mouth. She had tiny little worry lines between her eyes.

“What is it, girl? Forgot your name? It’s Molly,” he teased, but she didn’t smile. He kissed her again, more deeply, stroking a fingertip across her clit at the same time. She moaned into his mouth, a small, half-hearted reaction. He pulled away and she hid her face against his neck. She was struggling, spiraling down.
Molly, Molly, don’t forget who you are.

“I know a lot about you, girl,” he said, rubbing his chin against her soft dark curls. “You’d probably be surprised. 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.” With every word, she seemed to draw up tighter and tighter. “I know something else about you,” he said. “I know you didn’t really come yesterday.”

He waited for a reaction, any bodily reaction, but she only turned her head a little more into the curve of his shoulder. He cupped her pussy and sighed. He didn’t like her withdrawal, her surrender. It was too weak. He nudged her back so she couldn’t hide her face.

“You’re wondering why I punished you when I knew?” he asked. “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. How much she must hate him... He laughed softly and brought his fingers to her nose for a moment so she could breathe in her feminine scent. Her needy scent. “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. The denial is just a tool for winding you up so I can watch you writhe and wriggle for me.”

She pressed her face back against his neck, making a small distressed sound. She moved her hips, just a little, but he didn’t stop his lazy torment. His finger slid across her taut little button and down into the cleft of her pussy. He tightened his arm on her waist when she moved her hips and started to tremble.

“You see?” He chuckled 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.”

She pulled away from him then, the first real sign of rebellion. He liked it, but at the same time, he had to put it down. He drew his hand out of her harness and grabbed her face.

“You have to trust me, girl. I think you don’t trust me. I know we haven’t had a lot of time together, but I’m being careful. Perhaps you don’t see it, but I am.” He reached for her waist and tightened the harness. Enough cuddle time. “Listen, I want you to really clean and straighten up the play space today. There’s a big party tomorrow. A private party. An orgy,” he finally clarified, laughing at the sudden hope that spread across her face. Yes, it would have been the perfect occasion to release her from orgasm restriction. But—

“No, you won’t yet be permitted to come,” he said to put down her false hope. “I’ll let everybody know. And girl, you won’t want to be punished in front of everyone if you screw up. So beware. It might be best if we did a little more edging practice tonight.” Mephisto pinched her nipples until she flinched, and then slapped her breasts. “You know, I might not permit you to come at all until you’re returned to your Master. What a gift that would be for him, no? To return you absolutely wild with horniness. Maybe he’d find he liked you that way. I could give him lots of advice about an effective denial program. And that harness is going home with you and him. Hopefully he’ll make good use of it.”