All he could think about was pulling her deeper and deeper into submission to him.
He wasn’t going to force her into anything more encompassing, though, until she was ready. He was determined not to give her any ammunition to throw in his face later. He was giving her the time and space she needed, and he didn’t mind because he knew she was steadily working her way to him. She was squaring things away with lawyers, with family. She was reading and sitting for long hours thinking and writing in a journal.
She was getting her ducks in a row. They both were. Mephisto had released his other play-slaves, and told his casual partners that he was experimenting with monogamy for now. That wasn’t to say he’d never share Molly once she was his, or bring other partners into their dynamic, but now, at the beginning of what might be forever, they both had to be unfettered and available to one another one hundred percent.
Unfortunately that involved Mephisto staying back and letting Molly work out her relationships too, like smoothing the rough edges she’d left with Eliot. Every Friday she set out to find him, and Mephisto had to force himself to let her go. He’d busy himself with club work, invoices, promotion. Today he was party planning, sending emails and making calls about a shibari-themed play night coming up in a couple months. It wasn’t like the vanilla guy was going to win her back somehow. Mephisto told himself that—repeatedly—but there was still the worry she wouldn’t return to him. That she’d call Mephisto and say, “I made a mistake. We’re compatible after all. Can you send over my stuff?”
From what Mephisto knew, Eliot was a stand up guy, which was the worst part of all of it. If Molly wanted him, Mephisto would have to usher her into the man’s arms and smile the whole time he was doing it. Jesus Christ, it would suck.
“Mephisto.”
He was startled out of his fretful thoughts by her voice. He looked up to find her walking through the play space toward him. He searched her expression and found some new softness there, some relief. She’d seen Eliot...and she’d come back to him. He held out his hand and pulled her close when she came near. He settled her in his lap and tilted her head back, threading his fingers in her soft dark hair. “Little Molly,” he breathed against her lips.
He squeezed her breasts as she huddled against him, worked a hand down her front to grope her pussy through her jeans. When she was his, really his, her clothes would come off when they were alone together, when they were at home. He didn’t like them coming between him and Molly’s hot, wet pussy, her hard, thrusting nipples. He pushed her up off his lap with a grunt.
“Undress.”
He stood at the same time to take off his shirt and kick off his jeans. “Did you see him?”
Molly stopped mid-strip. “Undress,” he said again, sharply. “Talk to me at the same time. Did you see him?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“How did it go?”
“It was...” She moaned softly as he sat back down and pulled her astride his lap. “Eliot was a little...”
“Surprised?”
“He seemed a little angry at first—oh!” Mephisto dug his fingers into her thighs and yanked her down hard on his cock, feeling her responsiveness, her reactions like a drug. Her pussy was so tight, a perfect glove.
“Angry? Angry how?” He jerked his cock in her so her tits bounced in front of him. It was impossible not to bite and suck them, and each vicious nibble resulted in a delicious clench of her pussy. He tightened his hands around her waist. “Didn’t you give the guy three hundred thousand bucks?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“So why...on...earth...would he be angry?” Mephisto punctuated each word with another deep thrust. Molly shook her head.
“I don’t know. I think... Maybe...”
Mephisto precluded any further attempt at an answer with a commanding kiss. He broke away, pulling her head back to nuzzle and suckle her neck. He held her chin hard and licked her pale cheek, wanting to eat her alive, as always. She was too much, and simultaneously never enough. “Maybe he was angry that he’s not going to be able to fuck your delicious pussy the way I am.”
“Ohhh...” She shuddered. “Yes, Sir. That’s probably it.”
“He won’t ever have your ass or your mouth either. I think that would make me feel angry too. He won’t ever get to use any of your holes, will he?”
“No... No, Sir.”
“Because you belong to me, Molly.”
Molly, Molly, Molly...
He used her name all the time, and he’d use it forever. Clayton hadn’t used it much after he’d collared her. He’d called her “girl,” in great part because Molly liked that type of objectification, but Mephisto preferred to keep her attached to her name. Attached to herself. He wanted all of her, not just the slave and the service. He wanted her mind, her intellect, her sensuality that exploded even now in his arms. He could always save “girl” for when she was in trouble. That would be fun.
“Are you going to come for me, you little slut?” Oh yeah, “slut” worked for both of them. She climbed his body, intent on only one thing. “Does that feel good? I want you to show me how good I make you feel.”
With anyone else, that would be asking for fakey cries or theatrics, but this was Molly. That wasn’t her style. Instead she pressed closer against him and looked him in the eyes. He felt her gaze in his balls, in the base of his pelvis like a sensuous caress. Her mouth was slightly open, her lips trembling with pleasure, but her eyes... He’d seen that look before. It was the look she used to give Clayton when they were in the club. Adoration, desire, and a kind of wonder that humbled him. Yes, he understood. He felt it too.
He buried his fingers in her hair and pressed his cheek to hers. His lips were poised at her ear, but all he could think to say was her name, over and over, like some mantra. The chair groaned beneath them as she orgasmed, and then it overturned, tumbling them both, still connected and still climaxing, to the floor.
Mephisto caught and cradled her, claiming her. Filling her with his cum. Molly laughed hysterically, her legs tangling with his. He felt in that moment so alive, so replete. Their eyes locked and Molly gave him a smile. Such a smile. He traced her lips, and then, somehow, she was smiling and crying at the same time.
Mephisto wiped away her tears. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I want to belong to you,” she said. “I’ve wanted it for so long. I’m ready now, if you’ll have me. If you want all of me. If you want me to call you Master.”
Mephisto’s cock pulsed, still deep inside her, to hear the word Master on her lips. “You’re sure?” he asked. “I want you to be sure, because I won’t make it easy for you to back out again. Once you’re mine...” He didn’t complete the sentence. He didn’t have to. Molly knew him well enough, remembered their history well enough to know what serving him would entail.
“I’m sure.” Her voice was steady, and so was her gaze. “I’m ready if you want me. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
They didn’t go to his bed, or to the club’s dungeon play space. Not to the kitchen or Mephisto’s makeshift office. They went out.
I’m ready if you want me
, she had told him.
I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
They were powerful words for both of them. Upon hearing them, Mephisto decided he needed air. Now there had to be some frank talk, some explicit negotiation, and the only place they could talk about those kinds of things without falling all over each other was out in the public eye. So they went to the park.
He sat on the grass, leaning back on his arms. Molly sprawled beside him with her head resting in his lap. Now and again he reached down to pet her, to stroke the glossy black waves of her hair. It was a beautiful fall day, with just the right amount of sunshine and breeze. He felt elementally relaxed, but Molly shifted now and again, as if she was already uncomfortable being clothed. When he’d made her dress again she’d done so with reluctance. He thought she probably would rather have had this discussion naked and locked in his cage. She’d told him she was ready, and he believed she was ready, but he would make her tread water just a little longer before he let her sink under the waves.
“So what made you decide it was time?” he asked. “Your meeting with Eliot?”
She thought a moment. “Maybe. I think squaring that away was always a natural transition point in my mind. But I wasn’t really sure until I talked to him.”
“Did you tell him who I am to you? About Club Mephisto?”
“Vaguely. He knows about Club Mephisto. I think he didn’t want to know any more. And I didn’t really want to get into it with him.”
“He wouldn’t have understood anyway.”
Her eyes met his, so piercing blue in the sun. “Yes, exactly. But you understand. I think you understand me better than anyone else who’s ever been in my life.”
“Even your old Master?”
She didn’t answer for a moment, only swallowed hard. Then she said, “Yes.”
Mephisto missed Clayton. He’d respected Clayton as a dominant and as a man, but he thought Molly was probably right. She turned on her back, staring up at the sky, the fingers of one hand toying with the hem of his jeans. “Do you believe in heaven?” she asked. “An afterlife? All that stuff?”
“No, kitten,” he said regretfully. “Do you?”
“No, but I wish I did. It just doesn’t seem possible, that that’s it. That once you’re gone...”
Mephisto brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. They were welling a little. “Is he really gone though? I remember him. You remember him. We talk about him a lot, and he affected both of us very deeply. That stays as long as we stay, you know?” There were tears now, quiet ones falling down her cheeks and onto his thigh. “Just so you know, that doesn’t ever have to change. Clayton was a very special, unique part of your life. Even when you call me Master, there will still be room for him.”
She blinked and swiped her tears away. “I don’t know why I’m crying. He would have been happy today. I was just thinking, if I’m wrong and there is a heaven, he’s probably looking down on us feeling pretty glad.”
Mephisto smiled. “Yes, I think so. But cry all you want. We’re both about to take a very important step, make a very important commitment. You’re sure about this?”
She barely paused to think about it. “I’m sure. I trust you completely. I’m closer to you than anyone else on earth.”
“But that doesn’t mean you have to submit to me. We can have trust and closeness without deep slavery. We’ve already shown that, I think.”
She took a while longer to mull over that. “Well...” She stuck out her tongue a little, and bit her lip. “I really want to do it for you.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you want it, that you would enjoy it. And I like making you happy.”
Her words were disturbing and lovely all at once. He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “You shouldn’t do it for me. You should mostly do it for you.”
She laughed and took his hand, and pressed her lips to his palm. “You know I want it ten times more than you do. You
know
.”
Mephisto laughed too. He did know. He lay down on his side and put an arm around her waist, then slid lower so they were face to face. “You need to understand this though... I’m not Clayton Copeland. I’ll demand service and sex and whatever else I enjoy from you, but there are things I won’t do. I won’t let you disappear. Do you know what I mean by that?”
She looked down at some point near the collar of his tee. “I’ll have to keep doing my self-improvement afternoons?”
“And your volunteer mornings, yes. Until further notice. I know this will make you very busy, because you’ll have to do other things for me too, but I like busy slaves.” She was biting her lip again. “What? What is it?”
“Will I have to cook for you?”
“God, no. Not without cooking lessons first. And no ironing. Ever.” He ran a hand over a faint scar on her forearm. “I know from personal experience that you and irons don’t mix.”
She gave him a shy, impish smile. “Maybe if I had lessons first.”
“You’re pressing your luck, little slave girl,” he replied, gripping her wrist. Even that gentle, teasing bondage ignited a spark in her eyes, a hot resonance in her body. He groaned softly, too softly for her to hear. He had to get her home. Soon. But first...
“From here on out, I’d like you to call me Master.” His voice was low and passionately intense. “I’ll try to be a careful, nurturing Master to you. I won’t offer you a collar for at least a month, so if things don’t work out...”
He couldn’t finish that sentence. Didn’t really need to. They both knew things would work out. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lips, once, twice. He opened his eyes to find her gazing back at him, all there, all lucid, and happily choosing to submit to his will.
“You know,” he said, “sometimes I’ll want times like these when we just hang out. Not as Master and slave. As lovers. As friends. I’ll want deep talks and long walks. I won’t give you a full-time dynamic that never changes. Not because I don’t value you, but because I value you too much. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
After a pause, she nodded. “Me and Clayton used to have times like that. Well, my collar never came off but...” She blinked a few times. “In the end, those are the times I really remember. Not because they were the best times between us, but because they were the times we felt most connected.”
“It’s weird but I almost always feel connected to you. I felt a connection the first time I saw you. Do you remember?”
She buried her head in his shoulder. “No. I was too drunk.”
“You were drunk as a skunk, and I hate drunk ass people, so there was something else there. Something more that drew me to you.”
She looked up at him, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “What was it? That something more?”
I burned for you. I’ve burned for you for so long.
“I don’t know. Some spark, Molly. With people like us, you can’t always explain why you want something. You just do.” He stroked her hair one more time and got to his feet, reaching down to help her up. “Come on, let’s get some ice cream before we head back.”
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