The door swung open and Mephisto braced for the mess he expected to find. It was so much worse. He said nothing, only moved into the foyer, studying the trashed living room and the ruined carpet. Mysterious stains decorated the walls.
“I...I might have hosted a few parties.”
“I see that.”
“I’ll clean it up.”
He wandered toward the kitchen. The smell hit him long before he got there. Broken dishware littered the floor, and the refrigerator hung open displaying an array of rotting items. In the dining room, a priceless crystal chandelier listed sideways, half torn from the ceiling. Exposed wires stuck out from the base. “Honestly, at this point, it would be best to hire a service to come take care of the cleaning.” He sniffed and breathed through his nose. “A service that handles hazardous waste.”
How had she been living here in these ruins? She looked around in shock like someone else must have done this. Perhaps she hadn’t been sober since the last party. A sobering—pun intended—thought.
“I suppose we have to go to the bedroom to pack your clothes,” he said. “Although I’m a little afraid of what I’ll find.”
The bedroom was ransacked too. “Who was here?” he asked. “Friends of yours?” Molly shrugged as he crossed to her dressing room and lifted the lid of her jewelry box. Empty. “They stole from you.”
“They weren’t really my friends.”
All the jewelry and gifts Clayton had bought his pretty princess. Gone. Mephisto felt rage for a moment, at her “friends,” at Molly for being so spoiled and careless, but in a way it was natural consequences. He shut the lid of the box and turned to her. “Okay. Suitcases. Clothes. Whatever you need to bring to my place.”
She started to pack, looking a little shell-shocked.
Let her be shell-shocked. She should be. He certainly was. She didn’t pack much, and then he went around the house with her picking up anything of value that was left. “Where is the violin?” he asked.
Molly flinched, and then she lied to his face. “I don’t know.”
His expression hardened. “Lies are not okay with me. Ever.”
Molly went back into the bedroom and knelt beside the bed. She stuck her hands underneath and pulled out an open case. The velvet inside was damaged. So was the violin. Strings stuck out every which way and part of the body was crushed.
“I tried to smash it.” She buried her face in her hands. “I tried to destroy it.”
Mephisto wasn’t angry at anything anymore, just really sad for her. “Why?”
“Because I hated it. Because I was never good enough.” She looked over at him, her eyes windows to the pain inside her. “This is your fault.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did I smash it?”
“No. You brought it into my life.”
You brought him into my life. That was what Mephisto heard. He leaned over her, closed the violin case and stowed it under his arm. “We’ll try to get it repaired. I’ll ask around and see if it’s possible.” He started out of the room, only to stop by the door. He nudged a half-burned box, turning it over. Shards of singed leather tumbled out, along with a very recognizable chastity shield and buckle. He turned to Molly, one eyebrow raised.
She shifted on her feet. “I tried to burn it...after I shredded it with a pair of scissors.”
“You still couldn’t kill it though, could you? It will forever haunt your dreams.”
She gave him a sour smile. “I’m glad you find it funny. I didn’t, you know. Wearing that sadistic contraption for a week, not being permitted to orgasm.”
“I never found it funny in the least. I thought it was a wonderful exercise for you. And for me. Did your Master ever use it on you after you came home?”
She shook her head. “I mean, a few times he put it on, to punish me, but I think the sight of me in chastity turned him on too much. He always ended up taking it off a few hours later so he could fuck me.”
Mephisto chuckled. “And he let you come, of course.”
She shrugged. “It was what he liked.”
Mephisto kicked the box, knowing her words for the truth. Clayton lived to drive his slave wild. Mephisto had enjoyed driving her wild too, that week they shared. His methods and Clayton’s were just different. “It wasn’t the chastity belt that prevented your orgasms, you know,” he said. “It was me. You still could have had them. Eventually, you would have found a way. Or you would have if you hadn’t been such an exemplary slave.”
Past tense. Molly looked so mournful. It would probably be best to get her out of this place. He took her out to lunch and then back to his private residence at Club Mephisto, where they worked together to set her up in the extra room. It was dark in there—no window—but comfortable. Until he was sure she wasn’t going to continue taking narcotics, he felt better not having a window in her room. When that was done, he sat her down across from him at his desk out by the dungeon.
“Okay, I’ve been thinking about expectations for you. I think you lack structure, some sense of purpose, so I’d like to assign you tasks I’ll expect you to do every day. As we agreed, they won’t be sexual, but they will be required.”
Molly nodded, then thought a moment. “I don’t want to work in the club. And I don’t want to be your housekeeper.”
He gave her a look. “Toppy, aren’t we?”
“I don’t want to be a service slave. I know a lot of subs get off on domestic service, but I’m not into that. You said you would help me manage my life, not make me do stuff I don’t want to do.”
“Did I say anything about you doing housework for me? Or even being my slave?”
She blushed. “No, sir.”
“My only concern is that if you have too much time on your hands you’ll find questionable ways to spend it. I’m basing this on your past behavior. Do you think I’m wrong?”
She shook her head. He stared at her until she eked out a “No, sir.”
“Here’s what I want. Every morning, I’d like you to get yourself out of bed and spend at least two hours doing something to help another person. Anyone. Your choice. Then I want you to spend at least two hours every afternoon doing something to improve yourself. Again, the activity is your choice. All I ask is that you report to me every evening at dinner what you did.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
“You’re out on your ass. No second chances. This will be our arrangement for now, until you get your life back together and decide what you want to do next. Fair enough?”
She was quiet a long moment. Then she said, “I think Clayton would have liked this. You helping me this way. You’re so much like him sometimes.” Her voice cut off in a little choke.
Let me be what Clayton was to you, then. He didn’t say it aloud. It wasn’t the time to confront her with that. When you’re ready, Molly. I’ll wait. She quickly composed herself, and he made his own voice firm and businesslike. “So, do you agree or not? I want us to be clear about everything. About what’s expected of you and what you expect of me.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s clear.” He heard the relief in her voice. He thought it had probably been a while since things looked clear to her. The rest of it he could figure out. He wouldn’t be as controlling and heavy-handed as Clayton, but he’d control her enough to comfort her. He’d give her occasional orders to keep her engaged, to give her a sense of protection. He’d give her a few light responsibilities around the house to earn her keep.
That night, he also gave her a bedtime, and she didn’t fight it. When the hour rolled around Mephisto locked her in her room, with her consent, of course. Her room became then, essentially, a cage, with walls instead of bars.
He, too, would be a cage for her. He hoped it would help. He hoped it would be enough.
*** *** ***
Molly settled comfortably into Mephisto’s care, not that it was easy. When did he ever
make things easy? Finding ways to help others, for instance, was a terrifying experience. She’d been focused so long on serving only one person, she’d never really thought about all the other people in the world who needed help, and all the countless types of help they needed.
The first day, she walked around opening doors for people, and picking up litter on the street. As she did, she watched people. Club Mephisto wasn’t in a terrible part of town, but it wasn’t in the most affluent area either. She saw a lot of people who looked troubled, but she was too shy to ask how she could help. Mephisto acknowledged her efforts, but encouraged her to be more proactive the next day. Proactive. What a concept. Again, the only thing she’d ever been proactive about was anticipating her Master’s wants and needs.
Mephisto pointed her to websites listing non-profit organizations in the area. She made some calls and met some people, and found right away that there was always something to do. Molly was hands-on in the beginning. She liked working on projects, helping people directly, but she knew there was more she could do. She started using some of Clayton’s money. That involved meetings with his financial planners, but the money was there, earmarked for charity. It had to be given away for tax purposes. She wasn’t sure about all the details of it, but the amount he had donated yearly to charity took her breath away. Now that she was working “down in the trenches,” as one of her new friends said, she understood the importance of carrying on his legacy.
The afternoons were more difficult. She couldn’t really concentrate on improving herself until she fixed all the things she’d messed up during her wild few weeks. Mephisto agreed, and directed her to go to a doctor first, to be sure she hadn’t done anything to her health during her month-long bender. He required STD testing too, which embarrassed her. But it was a relief to learn she’d managed to stay clean. Honestly, she’d been so out of her mind she couldn’t remember if she’d fucked anyone or not. Humiliating.