Club Mephisto
He told Mrs. Jernigan to dress her in the dark blue velvet coat. Molly was happy because it was one of her favorites. It was closely fitted up top, with large tortoiseshell buttons, and flared into a skirt-like silhouette at the bottom. She liked it because the rich blue color reminded her of the beauty of Master's eyes. Plus, it was lined inside with the softest olive floral silk, and felt nice and comfortable against her naked skin. She was never dressed underneath, not when he was taking her to Club Mephisto. The coat came off inside the door to be checked, and Molly accompanied her Master into the play space nude.
She buttoned up until they were in Master's car. There was no luggage to bring for her week-long sojourn at the club, only the coat she wore—which she would give up—and his collar, which she would die to keep fastened around her neck. As he got in the driver's seat and closed the door, she couldn't restrain a shudder. He would be gone for a week without her. He touched her knee and smiled sympathetically.
"You'll be kept busy, little one. The time will go fast."
"I hope so, Master."
"Unbutton yourself," he prompted.
Master's sedan had tinted windows, so when Molly traveled in her coat, he enjoyed having her unfasten and open the coat wide for his pleasure. She undid the tortoiseshell buttons and slid a hand down each side of the lapels so the coat revealed all of her front.
"Open your legs."
She complied, and his fingers slid roughly between her pussy lips and then up to pinch each hard nipple. She felt the flood of wetness between her thighs, her body's reaction to the casually possessive way he handled her. She opened her thighs a little wider, wishing she could slide her own hand down there over her freshly waxed lips to the aching nub that probably even now glistened with lust for him. Her ass cheeks still smarted, even cushioned by the silk lining of the jacket. But she wouldn't fidget or shift, and she certainly wouldn't touch what was his. Her hands rested on either side of her, relaxed, slightly open. Whenever they stopped at a light, he would pinch her nipples, sometimes twisting them or even gripping the very edge of the taut peaks so she would have to bite back yelps of pain and mindless begging words. Ouch. Master! Please, that hurts so much. And still, the endless growing ache in her pussy made her want to beg for something else altogether.
By the time they pulled up at Club Mephisto, the silk lining of her jacket was soaked with her juices. Her Master made her scoot back and show him the darkened circle as she blushed red. He just shook his head and made a sardonic comment about dry cleaning bills. She melted at his teasing smile and buttoned up before the valet arrived to take the car.
Soon they were inside Mephisto's enclave. A burly doorman welcomed her Master by name, and beckoned over a thin girl with black hair and geisha-style painted lips to take Molly's coat. It was a little chilly where they stood inside the door. She suppressed a shiver as a draft slid up between her thighs to freeze the wet warm sheen still coating her pussy lips. Her Master also handed over his coat, so he wore only his finely tailored shirt and khaki pants. He rarely wore fetish gear—and in Molly's opinion, his business attire was much sexier than leather and latex anyway. She knew other women thought so too, because she saw the way they watched her Master whenever he moved around the club. He was tall, over six feet, and muscular in the natural way of a man and not the showiness of a bouncer or bodybuilder. He moved with a confidence and stride that distinguished him as someone comfortable with power.
And then there was his handsome face, his commanding expressions. It was so effortless with him. He turned to her and she was already falling to her knees before he ordered her to. Sometimes he let her walk, when the club was crowded, but today he wanted her to crawl beside him. Crawling was something she'd had to grow accustomed to, but she could do it now very gracefully and almost seductively. He took out a silver chain leash and hooked it to the ring on her collar, and then led her across the floor. Mephisto's was impeccably clean, and the common areas were carpeted with a deep dark gray shag that felt soft against her hands and knees. She often curled up at Master's feet on that shag carpet as he talked to other patrons or watched scenes in one of the surrounding play areas.
She knew to keep her attention on him, but a cursory glance revealed a few scenes in progress already. A sub surrendering to a hypnotic fire play session; a severe caning; an involved bondage scene in which a slave was being restrained over a padded horse and tormented with various implements. Her Master led her past all the scenes and past the bar to a large table in the corner of the play space. Mephisto's office, more or less, where he met with prospective members and surveyed the goings-on as head dungeon master and owner. He rose from the massive oak table and extended his hand to her Master.
"Clayton. Good evening."
Her Master greeted the club owner effusively and Molly stole one of her usual fascinated glances at him. He was dressed in black—he was always in black. Today he wore a loose black cotton shirt and black jeans, and his thick dark hair was pulled back from his face in long dreadlocks. The effect was not disordered at all, but very striking. He was nearly as tall as her Master, but he was far more muscular. Even so, when he moved it was with a grace and quickness that seemed dangerous, not clumsy. Mephisto's eyes were dark, as black as his clothing. Perhaps they weren't black, but she'd never chanced to look directly at him out of the cowed submission he inspired in her. So she assumed they were black, for it seemed most fitting. His skin was dark bronze, mulatto cappuccino, deliciously set off by piercings in his nose and ears.
His eyes fell on her then and she shivered. He was studying her in a way that unsettled her. But then he smiled and reached to pat her head, a light touch of welcome.
"Ah, your lovely kitten,” he said to her Master. “She's looking as sleek and fine as ever."
She couldn't pretend to herself that his words didn't affect her, but hopefully she didn't give too much pleasure away. Mephisto turned and went to the table, gesturing for her Master to join him. Molly took her place on the floor at Master’s feet, sitting back on her knees and watching for any cues. But he was focused on Mephisto now, so she attended to their conversation.
With the low hum of trance music in the background, the men exchanged pleasantries and her Master told Mephisto a little about his trip and the work that necessitated it. Mephisto ordered drinks for them from the bar, and Master gave her some sips of water from his own glass. After a time, as their conversation moved on to happenings at the club and local lifestyle news, Molly's attention began to drift and her back started to ache from trying to sit up straight. Her Master must have noticed her begin to struggle. He jerked on the leash and she straightened, but then he drew her head down into his lap and began to stroke her hair. She relaxed against his hard thigh, trying not to drool from the smell of him. She sometimes thought that, like a dog, she could sniff her Master out from a roomful of imposters, just from the familiar scent of his skin and his clothes. She drifted in pleasure as his fingers rubbed her nape and trailed up into her scalp, parting her curly hair. I love you. I love you, Master.
Then she realized with a start that the conversation had turned to her. Her Master was explaining some of her routines and habits.
"Of course, for this week she is yours. Feel free to handle her as you wish, within the limits we talked about. I just wanted to give you a sense of what she's accustomed to."
"Certainly. That helps me. And just to reiterate, these are the limits we've outlined here." She heard the faint rustling of papers. "No scarring or body modification, no unprotected sex. What about withholding of food and water?"
"I'll leave that to you. I know I can trust you to act responsibly." He reached beneath the table with his other hand, caressing her cheek lightly. "She is my beloved, and my toy. My slave, but also my wife. I cannot expect you to treat her exactly as I do. Please enjoy her as you will until I return."
"And...in the event there is an accident with a condom?"
"She's been sterilized. No chance of a pregnancy, and her most recent STD tests are here. Everything should be in order." More rustling paper. Molly felt embarrassed to be discussed so impersonally, but she knew these were the same questions she would want to know the answer to if she were put in charge of someone else's slave for a week.
Molly felt her Master's leg twitch slightly against her head. "If anything were to happen to her—just by chance, you understand—we see Dr. Preis up on Woodlawn. He has all her records and he knows her well."
"Don't worry, Clayton. I won't break your toy. I plan to keep her in my rooms most of the time, and even when I bring her out to share she'll be well-protected. As you know, my private parties are even more exclusive than my Club events. I am very careful about who I allow to use my slaves. Now, if you don't mind, may I address your slave for a moment? On her feet?"
"Certainly." Her Master yanked the collar gently and Molly pushed up off the floor out of obedience more than willingness. She stood beside the table as both men sat looking at her.
"Master Mephisto wishes to speak to you, Molly," her Master said.
Molly. He only called her Molly when they were vanilla, interacting as equals. She wanted to shrink into herself, but her Master pinched her thigh and ordered her to stand up straighter.
"Molly," Mephisto said with a smile. "I promised your Master to take good care of you this week with his permission, but I require consent from one more person."
She bit her lip, blushing. "Yes, Sir."
"Do you agree to act as my slave this week, giving me your complete trust and obedience?"
"Yes, Sir. If it pleases my Master."
Mephisto smiled at the man to his right, and Molly felt her Master's hand touch hers. "Answer for yourself, Molly. Do you consent? Leave me out of it for the moment. He requires your permission."
She looked lost. "But Master! I don't want to leave you out of it."
Now Mephisto laughed and clapped her Master on the back. "Enough. That works for me, Clayton. I'm getting the sense that as long as you're willing, she's willing." He sobered and looked back at her. "What a very smitten slave you are. Your Master is fortunate."
She saw a look pass over her Master's face. She was very sensitive to his expressions and she got the feeling he found Mephisto's tone not completely to his liking. A moment later he rattled her leash and she thankfully sank back to her knees. She had a feeling her Master would be leaving soon. He doubtless had much to do to prepare for his trip, and with her consent granted, there was not much left to do but surrender her into Mephisto's care. She pressed her cheek against his knee, huddled against his calf underneath the table. Fears and worries crowded her head. Where was he going? What if his plane crashed? What if there was a car accident?
What if he met another slave he liked more than her?
She bit her tongue to stop herself from pleading with him to stay, or to take her with him. Why did he not just take her along? Because she might be a distraction. Because, perhaps, he needed a break from her sometimes. The true answer, of course, was that he did as he wished, and it was not her place to demand an explanation. He did not wish to take her on his trip. He wished her to serve Mephisto in his absence. She existed to fulfill his every wish. Her fingers clutched his calf, but she resigned herself to going with Mephisto willingly. She heard, with great dread, parting words. Final thanks to Mephisto, a rueful joke about how firmly she'd adhered herself to his leg.
"Well then, she's yours," said her Master with a sigh. Not a sad sigh. She could tell his mind was already back on business. He'd made arrangements for her and now he was unencumbered by his slave and ready to go.
She felt her leash passed over and a subtle tug from a new hand. "Bid your Master goodbye, kitten. You'll see him in a week."
"Now, no tears," her Master said as he leaned down to pull her into a hug. She breathed in against his neck, a deep gust of his scent to savor and keep until he was back again. "Your behavior will reflect on me. I want you to make me proud," he whispered against her ear.
"Yes, Master."
He rose and left, not looking behind him, although she watched him go as long as Mephisto would permit her. Eventually he tugged her leash again, a bit harder, and said, "Eyes on me."
She turned to him, not unwillingly, but she knew her sadness and grief still showed in her eyes. She saw a glimmer of sympathy, but not much. Then a resigned smile. "I don't think you'll be worth much tonight. We'll begin tomorrow, after you rest. But first..."
This time he reeled her in on the leash, wrapping it around his hand until she was crouched under the table between his legs. He handed down a condom, and she could not pretend to misunderstand what he wanted from her. He undid his fly as she unwrapped the condom. It was flavored, cherry or strawberry. He was only half-hard, so she fondled and kissed his phallus until it began to grow in her hands. His smell was not her Master's, but it was not unpleasant. His cock was smooth and his balls completely depilated, so unlike her Master's blond thatch. Once fully hard, Mephisto was thick and heavy between her palms.
In the darkness under the table she fumbled to roll the rubber down over the swollen head. He yanked the chain impatiently but she was not used to handling condoms. She went slowly, taking care to leave space at the tip the way her Master had taught her to do when he was sharing her with others. Thoughts of her Master assailed her again so it felt bittersweet when she took Mephisto in her mouth. How many times had she been curious about having sex with him? About the size and shape of his cock and how it would feel inside her? It filled her mouth and she focused on her task, pleasuring him and fellating him. She did the best she could, impeded by the table top above her. Now and again he'd press on the back of her neck so she was pushed down on his solid length. Once she nearly gagged and choked, and thought she heard a chuckle above her.
A couple times people came by the table and Mephisto conversed with them. Whether or not they realized his cock was jammed down her throat, she didn't know and didn't really want to contemplate. As his pleasure grew, he seemed to expand to even greater dimensions and she started to feel exhausted. Licking, sucking, deep throating, pulling back to lick and suck his balls, and then back to sucking again. She began to fantasize that he was her absent Master, and she served him with all the passion and desire she felt for him. Mephisto's legs tensed around her and he pushed her head down, down. She tensed her lips and held her breath, opening her throat for him. The familiar warm taste of semen on her tongue was replaced by the cloying berry flavor of the condom. After several seconds, just as lack of air triggered the beginning of panic, he let her pull away.
"Stay," he said to her under the table. He left and she remained to analyze his feelings from the disembodied tone of his voice. Had he been pleased with her oral skills? He returned a moment later and yanked the leash again. She crawled beside him past the table into the back of the club and then into a living area she'd never seen. There was a private kitchen with a dining table, and then two doors opening to other rooms. He led her into the room on the right. It was large, with a massive black iron bed raised high off the ground. She soon realized it was because the entire bottom of the bed was a cage of thick bars. There was another large rectangular cage in the corner. A girl appeared out of nowhere, a beautiful ethnic-looking girl with wildly curly hair and almond-shaped eyes. She began arranging blankets and pillows in the corner cage.
While she did so, Mephisto pulled Molly up and gazed down at her. It did not even cross her mind to dare to look away.
"You are no doubt tired," he said in a deep, rumble-edged voice. "Rest tonight, because tomorrow you will serve me at my leisure, and probably need to learn a lot of new things."
"Yes, Master. I will try my best to serve you."
"Yes, you will—or I will demand you try again and again until you get it right. Perfectly right."
Something in the way he spoke left her with no illusions that he might be patient in training her.
"And for the duration of your stay here, kitten," he continued, "you will abide by the same rules your Master set regarding touching yourself."
"Yes, Master." She couldn't help blushing a little at his direct stare.
"You will not want to discover what happens if you disobey me in this, girl. Understand?"
"Yes, Master," she said, nodding. "I understand."
"Now Lila will show you to the bathroom, where you will shower, wash your hair, and brush your teeth with the toiletries set aside for you on the counter. You will leave things clean and orderly when you're finished, and then Lila will put you to bed."
Molly was well aware where her bed would be. On the floor, in the cage.
She crawled in later at Lila's command—washed, brushed, and exhausted—crouching down so as not to bump her head. It was somewhat exciting to be surrounded by those bars, but somewhat scary. Master had never caged her, and most nights even let her sleep beside him in his bed. The cage was much less comfortable than Master's bed, but she could still stretch out almost all the way. She found a comfortable position lying on her side with her legs drawn up slightly. Before she closed her eyes, she looked around the room again. Mephisto had long since left, gone back to mingle with the patrons of his club. Lila had left as well, after locking a padlock fixed to the door. Once upon a time Molly would have thought about fires, emergencies. About how to get out if she really had to.
She didn't think about things like that much anymore. In a corner of the room, in the near darkness she could see a slow, blue blink. Camera. Someone was watching for emergencies, which was why Lila had left the lights dimmed but not out completely. She knew she would be safe here. Master would not have left her somewhere that wasn't safe. But there was safety and then there was control. She pushed on the door once, twice, just to be certain it wouldn't open. She tugged on the padlock. No, nothing was pretend here. She was caged, well and truly. But she was grateful she hadn't been put to sleep under the bed, with him above her and no way to see him.