Molly didn’t need to go out, didn’t need Mephisto to drop a lot of money on her to make this day special, but she knew he’d do it anyway, so she was determined to enjoy it and show him her appreciation. When she finally got done doing her hair, she dressed in a black cowl-neck sweater dress that framed her new collar perfectly. As a bonus, her black dress matched her Master’s usual subdued garb. His suit jacket and slacks were black, set off by a crisp white shirt and a deep crimson tie. She hadn’t seen Mephisto in a suit and tie since Clayton’s funeral. This was really a big deal.
Well, she knew it was a big deal. They’d talked about their relationship and their future together for hours leading up to this day. In a way it was almost like vanilla people getting engaged. Not every slave collaring was that serious, but this one felt that way. Maybe she was just projecting her own desires into their conversations. Mephisto had never said anything specific about marriage in their future. If Master Mephisto wanted to marry her some day as her old Master had, she would be thrilled, but she wouldn’t expect to have all those plans laid out for her just yet.
No, they needed time to adjust to this first. Love, slavery, connection. I love you, Molly. I always will, he’d said. But he might have just meant the love of a Master for a slave, or even the love of a mentor or protector for a protégé. The love of a friend. He’d been all those things to her. At the restaurant, she gazed into his eyes to find them shining with a deep intensity that made her stomach flip-flop.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked. “You’re very thoughtful tonight.”
Molly cast around for something to say besides I’m thinking about whether you’ll marry me. “I was just remembering...I don’t know. Our history together. All the things you’ve done for me, Mas—” She clamped her lips shut and fingered the silver chain around her neck. She wasn’t supposed to call him Master in public. She took a sip of wine and looked down at the table, then back at him. “This almost feels like a culmination, in a way. Something we’ve been building toward for years.”
He nodded. “It does feel that way, doesn’t it? I’ve been trying to put that into words for days but you beat me to it.”
“But at the same time...those old days when we first met...even that week you watched me for Clayton...they seem a lifetime ago. Or another life entirely.”
Mephisto chuckled. “Sometimes they seem that way to me too.” He sighed and lingered a moment over his Chicken Piccata. “The truth is, when you came to stay with me that week, I thought I knew you pretty well already, but I didn’t know you at all. You surprised me in so many ways.”
Molly laughed, leaning across the table to fix him with a look of mock reproach. “You surprised me too. You traumatized me.”
“Did I? I would have thought you’d already expect the worst of me.”
“I did, but your worst was worse than anything I could have dreamed.”
He made an outraged face. “I wasn’t that awful to you.”
“You were awful,” Molly insisted.
“Okay, I was pretty mean. It was a hard week for you. But you know, there was a purpose to my madness. I was testing you.”
“Testing me for what?”
He paused. “For truth. I wanted to break you down and get some truth out of you, out of that slavey little shell you were in. I guess deep down I couldn’t believe you were really happy, as hardcore as you were with Clayton. I worried about Stockholm Syndrome, mind control, all those things. I wanted to reassure myself that you really wanted the life you had with him.”
It felt strange to hear these things now. Back then she’d only thought he wanted to torture her. He’d denied her speech, denied her pleasure, kept her locked in a chastity belt. He’d stored her in a cage, fucked other women—and men—in front of her. On the last day, he’d asked her questions that troubled her, and forced her to answer them, but she’d never known the answers he sought. She understood better now. “You know, I was so happy with him. But there were times I...” She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. There were times I wanted other men too. Like you.
She was thankful Mephisto didn’t press her to finish her sentence. Instead, he said, “You’ve changed, you know. From the person you were then.”
Molly nodded. “I know.”
“It’s like Clayton’s passing forced you to find this inner strength you didn’t know you had. I mean, I always knew you had it. I wasn’t sure if you knew.”
“So it was my inner strength that made me go crazy and trash Clayton’s house, and party like a maniac?”
“No, that was your inner insanity,” said Mephisto with a snort. “Let’s hope that stays away from now on. No, I’m talking about the way you’ve stepped up to the plate with Clayton’s family, Clayton’s lawyers, handling his estate. You know, I talked to him about you on many occasions. I don’t think he ever suspected you’d be strong enough to kick so much ass without him. I think he would have been pleasantly surprised to see you today.”
Molly stifled a laugh. “I think he would have been horrified. He liked me mindless and servile.”
“And you enjoyed being that for him,” Mephisto said. “Don’t act like you didn’t.”
Molly flushed because it was true.
“But I’m glad,” he added, “that you’re ready to be a little more kick-ass. I find your combination of service and badassness completely intoxicating. I could spend my whole life with someone like you and be perfectly happy.”
Oh, now. That sounded pretty committed, Molly thought. But then, they’d been working toward this for so long.
Mephisto slid a hand across the table to grasp hers. “Everything worked out, didn’t it, Molly? We’re so lucky. How many people get as lucky as us?”
“Not many.”
It had to be luck, didn’t it? Molly felt like the luckiest woman on earth.
Chapter Twelve: Detour
It was just a few weeks after that—around Thanksgiving—that Molly started developing health problems. Mephisto worried she was having some psychosomatic reaction to becoming his slave. She wouldn’t eat, claiming a nervous stomach. She didn’t want to sleep, but then she’d practically pass out from exhaustion when Mephisto ordered her to bed. He could tell from the drawn lines of her face she was dropping weight.
At first he thought she wasn’t eating because she was worried about her figure. He knew Clayton used to measure her and weigh her obsessively. It was a pretty warped kink, but Mephisto had never noticed Molly suffering from any food or self-image issues. But now she was, and Mephisto examined his behavior to see if he was causing them. He fixed a variety of meals and ordered out food that she liked. He asked if she wanted more input into food preparation but she assured him she didn’t, that she was fine. But she still didn’t eat.
; He didn’t know how to deal with weight issues in slavery. Unlike Clayton, Mephisto wasn’t comfortable micromanaging Molly’s diet or controlling her intake of food. He didn’t want to force her to eat, but her loss of appetite was alarming. Then the intermittent lethargy and nausea began.
To his frustration, Molly insisted she was okay, insisted on continuing to serve him even when she was swaying on her feet. This wasn’t how he’d pictured things...his slave gagging miserably on his cock every time she sucked it, and turning green every time he tried to coax her to eat. She winced and almost retched as he held out a piece of toasted flatbread topped with feta.
“You love Greek, kitten.” He sighed. “I went out and got this especially for you.”
She fell to her knees and pressed her forehead against his calf. “Master, please punish me if I’ve displeased you.”
“Punish you? Honey, something’s wrong with you and I want to know what it is.” He took her arm and made her lift her gaze to his. “I want you to make an appointment with a doctor.”
“I’m fine, Master. This will pass, I’m sure. A doctor will make a fuss about the marks.”
He studied the fading cane tracks on her thighs and frowned. “I won’t make any more marks on you. When the existing ones are gone, I want you in for a full work up. A complete physical. What if this is something more serious than a stomach bug? Stomach bugs don’t usually last three weeks.”
“I’ll go to the doctor, Master. If you wish it.” She sounded like she wished for anything but.
Mephisto stroked her cheek and gave her a sympathetic look. “I know you hate doctors, but part of being a good Master is keeping my slave—you—in good health. You look...sickly.”
She cringed. “I’m sorry, Master.” For fuck’s sake, like this illness was somehow her fault.
“Molly girl.” He waited until she looked up at him. “You understand I’m not angry with you. I just want to find out what’s going on. You’ve lost weight, and...” He thought a moment. When had she had her last period? He couldn’t remember her having one since they’d started sleeping together again. “Do you usually miss periods?”