Mercy

by Annabel Joseph

  He was clearly in as high of spirits as she was. It wasn't long before he leaned forward, grasping the sides of her head and taking her mouth in violent strokes that culminated in a pulsing orgasm in her throat. She stayed still, tasting his hot cum, swallowing it down and licking up the very last drops from the tip of his cock.

  "Good girl," he said, tilting her chin up with a smile. "Go and tell Mrs. Jernigan that I will take dinner early tonight. We'll be going to Club Mephisto at ten."

  * * * * *

  Molly knelt beside him as he ate, in case he should need anything. He was looking over some papers connected to his work. She wasn't sure about the extent of his wealth or what he actually did all day as the owner of a prominent Chicago real estate firm. She just knew he was very successful at what he did. He had a real life name, Clayton, which she also loved, although she couldn't imagine ever calling him Clayton. She had called him Mr. Copeland while they were dating, and Master before they were even officially wed. His male friends called him Clayton when they came over and Molly dressed in unfamiliar clothing to act as Master's vanilla wife.

  Some of his friends called him Clayton at the club too.

  Club Mephisto. Master's favorite club, and the club where they'd met.

  Master took Molly to the club on a fairly regular basis, perhaps once a month. Sometimes they didn't go for two or three months if Master was especially busy, and Molly would feel disappointed. It wasn't only that she didn't get out of the house much. To be honest, it was also because of Mephisto himself.

  Mephisto was the owner of the private BDSM club Master preferred over all the others in Chicago. Since a couple years ago, Club Mephisto was the only place they went. Mephisto's clientele was hand-selected and thoughtfully chosen. It was Mephisto himself who had invited Molly to work at his club when he'd seen her, drunk and wild, dancing atop a table at a mainstream bar in Weed Street. She had shown up nervous and curious, and been put to work behind the bar in the dark, cavernous play space. She had been given a white collar symbolizing Mephisto's protection. What she saw...the scenes, the sex, the power exchange...changed her life.

  But she had never been Mephisto's girl. Mephisto was no one's, and no one ever belonged to him. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that everyone belonged to him in the intimate, decadent world he created. It was Mephisto who had paired up Molly with her Master. He had somehow engineered magic, knowing they were a likely match. It was what he was famous for, and why people always came back. It was why people in the lifestyle all wanted to find a way into Mephisto's private enclave. Mephisto created sex magic, and mind-blowing scenes of power exchange. Molly was not immune to his spell, although she hid her fascination as well as she was able. She didn't want Master to stop going because Molly had an inappropriate curiosity about Mephisto. Anyway, everyone did, not just her, so Molly tried not to feel too guilty about it.

  "Girl? Did you hear me?"

  Molly snapped back to attention, flushing red. "Please forgive me, Master. I was...not attending."

  He gave her an arch look. "Coffee. And the nipple clamps, if you are having trouble staying focused tonight."

  "Yes, Master."

  Molly stood and went to let Mrs. Jernigan know that Master was ready for after-dinner coffee, and then went to fetch the nipple clamps from the unobtrusive stash of toys in the living room. It was no less than she deserved. How could she be daydreaming about Mephisto rather than paying attention to Master? Molly knelt before him as she returned, offering her breasts to him as she handed over the clamps. He pulled each nipple hard before he closed the biting teeth down on tender flesh. Molly tensed at the excruciating pain, but kept her cries of discomfort inside. You deserve this. You deserve this. Focus. Mrs. Jernigan came in to deliver Master's cappuccino just as he was clamping the second nipple, and Molly's face flamed red with humiliation. Mrs. Jernigan soundly ignored her as always.

  Master thanked Mrs. Jernigan in a cordial tone, then yanked the silver chain between Molly's breasts.

  "Were you daydreaming, Molly?" he asked.

  He was not truly angry, only slightly annoyed, to her relief. She nodded and answered,

  "Yes, Master. I'm so sorry and I beg your forgiveness."

  "What were you daydreaming about?"

  She paused but a second. "Club Mephisto, Master." Well, that was true. She was contemplating the club, in addition to the club's owner. But the words felt dry in her mouth. She knew them for a lie, a dissemblance. She concentrated on the dull, throbbing pain in her nipples.

  You deserve this. You deserve worse.

  Master sipped his coffee in a silence a few minutes, flicking the chain every so often to draw a gasp of pain from her. She focused all her attention on him, trying to make up for her earlier gaffe. At last he pushed back in his chair, but did not stand.

  "I have news for you, girl. I have been called away for next week. Business. A last minute thing. I was a bit at ends trying to think what to do with you. It's fine to leave you with Mrs. Jernigan of course, but I think you get restless."

  Molly felt devastated, cold-cocked. Going away for a week? That was so long to be without him. And it was true. She hated being alone with no interaction or affection, just trapped in Master's home with cold, reserved Mrs. Jernigan. She gazed up at him, letting her sadness show in her eyes. The pain of the clamps, which had given her a place of focus just moments ago, was now overshot by a much more encompassing pain that ached in her heart.

  "Now, girl. It's only a week," her Master chided. "You look as if I just killed your puppy.

  I actually made some calls from the office and hit on a viable arrangement, which is why I came home early."

  "An...an arrangement, Master?"

  "Yes, I've arranged for someone else, another Master I trust, to watch over you and put you through your paces while I'm gone. That way I know you're occupied and behaving yourself, and you needn't sit around here doing nothing with Mrs. Jernigan. Furthermore, now she can take a short vacation, which is long overdue."

  "Oh, Master. You are so smart to think of that." She wanted to ask " who, who, who? " but that would have been a terrible breach of decorum, so she waited patiently for him to tell her who he'd chosen. She knew he would only choose someone very trustworthy and capable, and so she wasn't worried at the idea of being given into someone else's hands, only curious as to whom she'd be given to. It was certainly someone they knew from the club, since they were going there later. The idea of him making the effort to actually arrange such plans for her in his absence touched her deeply.

  She gazed up at him. "I love you so much, Master. I appreciate it so much." Her trembling fingers reached out to graze his calf, the wonder of a mortal touching a God. "Dear Master. I cannot explain how much your care and concern mean to me." Her voice wobbled on the last word.

  "Now there, girl. You know how I feel about you getting overemotional."

  "Yes, Master," she whispered, reining in her tears. He reached out to toy with her hair, a light lazy touch that quieted her.

  "At any rate, you may not be so grateful later. Mephisto is an exacting Master. Much more so than I. I coddle you shamelessly."

  Mephisto? He was giving her to Mephisto? The warm fuzzy feelings of the moment before disappeared as her heart began to race. Her pulse pounded loud in her ears. Mephisto? For all her fascination with him, he frightened her. She shivered a little, trying to contain herself. Her Master watched for signs of reaction, and drew her closer when he saw what must have been her obvious signs of distress. He tugged her forward with the chain until she was hunched against him, her cheek resting on his thigh.

  "Are you so afraid, pet?" he murmured. "I believe this could be a good experience for you. Something outside your quiet domestic existence with your old, settled Master."

  Molly looked up in protest. "Oh, Master! You are not old. Please don't say such a thing!

  You are terribly handsome and sexy and youthful—"

  He chuckled and placed a
finger over her lips. "I am twenty years older than you, which you very well know. Forty-eight is not so old, but old enough."

  She held onto his leg, awash in a jumble of complex feelings. Fear, confusion.

  Nervousness. Shame that the idea of serving Mephisto excited her, and sadness that her Master would be gone.

  "It's only a week," he said again. "I think he could give you a lot of good experiences that will help you grow and deepen in your submission."

  "You are my Master," she whispered against his knee. "I could never reject any treatment or training you chose for me. If you wish me to go with Mephisto—"

  "I do wish it," he said lightly, with an ironic smile. "And you needn't torment yourself with guilt. I know there is attraction between you. I know that you desire Mephisto."

  "Master..." She shifted in dismay. "I...I..."

  "I am not angry with you. I am only stating facts. I have seen you steal looks at Mephisto at the club, and I've seen you two interacting. You are only human, as am I. You are a vibrant, sexually alluring woman. I am not so deluded as to believe I am the only man on earth who interests you. In fact, if I were, I would be quite alarmed."

  She shook her head, unbalanced by the sudden turn in the conversation. Her Master was always blunt with her, but in this case, his words deeply shocked her. Had he truly known her feelings toward Mephisto?

  "Master," she said with gravity. "I am yours. I love you so deeply. With Mephisto—"

  She stopped and peered up at him, seeking permission to speak openly. He gave a small nod.

  "With Mephisto, it is a...a curiosity only. He is a mystery. That's all it is, the interest I feel. But I could never... I would never..."

  "I certainly do not fear you will leave me for Master Mephisto. If anything, I hope your girlish imaginations and daydreams are not disappointed in the reality of life under his hand."

  "He could never live up to you," she said, her eyes wide and emphatic. "My life with you is perfect."

  "We do get on, don't we?" he said with tenderness. "I'll miss you while I'm away."

  "I'll miss you terribly, Master. Truly, I will."

  "It's my hope that Mephisto will keep you too occupied to miss me," he said in a dire tone that awakened a tiny frisson of dread amid all the excitement and confusion she felt. He must have noticed her small shiver.

  "Don't fear, girl. I've informed Mephisto of your—and my—limits regarding your person.

  You will not be harmed beyond the boundaries you're already accustomed to. But I believe Mephisto to be a more...intense type than myself. In more ways than one."

  "Oh." She wasn't sure what he meant by that, but she knew without a doubt he would never put her in an unsafe or damaging situation. It was one of the reasons she adored him so much.

  Her Master settled her back away from him with a sigh. "At any rate, it will be an adventure for you. While I will miss you, I actually enjoy expanding your horizons and indulging your fantasies, to a point. I hope to receive you back much refreshed and hopefully improved by the experience."

  "I sincerely hope you will find me improved, Master."

  "At the very least, you won't have gone to pieces like the last time I left you for a week's time."

  She blushed. Last time he'd left her to her own devices for a week, she found herself coming apart at the seams by the fourth hour. Something about the predictability and calmness of service fulfilled her. Without her Master's limits and requirements, life became hectic for her.

  Overwhelming. By now, after three years of serving him, she was a creature bred to control. Her Master was truly merciful to give her over to Mephisto. It was safekeeping, of sorts. She felt terribly emotional, and terribly eager to show him how grateful she was for his caring ownership of her. She hoped he would allow her to show him how much she appreciated him. She hoped he would take her to bed and let her give him pleasure, but she didn't dare suggest it. She sat quietly at his knee as she'd been trained. She waited to see if he would send her to Mrs. Jernigan for a whiskey. She knew that when he didn't take a drink after dinner, it often meant he intended to bed her.

  She tried to make no outward sign of hope or craving—or worse, impatience—but part of her ached to throw herself at his feet and beg him to take her. She loved her Master's cock. She loved his hands on her, his mouth and his teeth and his thick shaft parting her and thrusting inside. Her service to him prevented her giving in to those impulses. She had long ago learned to hold her desires and wants silent like a secret in her heart, and wait to hear what he wanted. She lived to fulfill his needs. His collar was the reminder of her status and her purpose. At times like these, when she worked hard to control herself, she focused on the rigid caress of the metal band around her neck and found that submission came easier to her. I am his. If he wants me, he will take me. He is my Master, and I am his slave. I will wait.

  At last, her patience was answered. He drew back from the table, grasped the chain between her breasts, and pulled her behind him to the bedroom.

  * * * * *

  He was rather tender with her, because he was leaving, she supposed. He pulled her close and caressed her as she undressed him with trembling fingers. I want...I want...I want... As hard as she tried, she still couldn't silence her wants and will completely. She had a feeling her Master didn't really wish her to. He took his time, having already climaxed in her mouth just before dinner. He toyed with her, stroking and fondling her in silence as she stood attentive before him in just the posture he liked. He took off her clamps, which he never left on too long for fear of injuring her sensitive tissue. She held her breath and shuddered as the intense rush of blood flooded her previously numbed nipples. He smiled knowingly at her. She understood that her suffering gave him pleasure, and that this involved no malice or menace on his part. It was simply the type of play that excited him.

  He wanted more such play, which Molly expected. He made her bend over the curved oak footboard and cuffed her hands at the small of her back. He got the whip he favored, a short black implement that hurt terribly, like stripes of fire, and left pretty welts. He held the cuffs hard so she couldn't squirm or escape him. She still often tried to get away, to her shame. Master told her he didn't mind it, that he liked when she tried to evade him, because it showed that she didn't enjoy what he did to her. Molly still wished she could be still and stoic just to show how much she wanted to please him, and how much pain she was willing to take to make him glad. In her heart she was willing to take any pain for her Master. But in reality, the whip made her mind go blank and her body start to panic.

  She buried her face in the bedding as the first blow fell, and another and another, hot, aching fire that made a helpless keening rise in her chest. Another blow, even harder. Her legs collapsed and he caught her with a whistling crack inside the thigh as a warning. She straightened her legs again, sobbing and snuffling, offering her ass for more punishment. Again, and again the whip fell across her hindquarters. She cried at each fresh blooming of pain, her hands struggling against him where he held the cuffs tight. No....no...please Master!

  She thought the words over and over in her head, although she didn't say them out loud.

  To have done so would have been pointless. She jerked and sobbed as two more strokes fell. Her ass cheeks clenched and her hips tried in vain to twist away. And then...reprieve. She lay still, shuddering and tense, her ass cheeks aflame with throbbing pain. Her Master put the whip back in its place on the nightstand and delivered a series of stinging slaps to her welted and punished bottom. She was so relieved that he was done with the whip that the blows barely registered. She pressed her hips against the edge of the hard footboard, squeezing her legs together as she often did to ease the horrible ache.

  Her Master tsked and spanked her again so she yelped and desisted. "Stand up, girl."

  She stood and faced him, her face wet with tears. He ran his thumbs across her damp cheeks and gave her an assessing look. "Master Mephisto will not let
your hungry little pussy rule him anymore than I do, you know."

  She felt ashamed. She had no control over her libido sometimes, a fact that both amused and exasperated her Master.

  "I'm...I'm sorry—"

  Her voice cut off as he took her chin hard in his hands.

  "I am afraid this is another area where I'm entirely too soft on you. You shouldn't be allowed any relief after that kind of brazen display, but I'm quite certain I won't be able to leave you without seeing you coming in that charming way you have. But know this—Mephisto is not so indulgent in this area. I have told him he should not be so with you. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Master."

  "This is one area where I would like to see you learn a little more control. Good slaves should not try to pleasure themselves against the headboard unless Master commands it. Isn't that true?"

  "Yes, Master," Molly whispered. "I...I try to control it...it is only that you...I...you..."

  "Oh, I understand. It's my fault," he said in a dry, dire tone.

  "No, Master! I mean...yes... I mean, the cause of my...lack of control is—"

  "My irresistible animal sexuality?"

  "Master." She said the only thing she could say without pouring out everything else she was thinking. But he surely heard it in that one word. Master, take me. Master, fuck me. Please, Master, you must understand how uncontrollably horny you make me feel.

  His lips quirked up at the edges, and she stared at the beloved face, the masterful visage that filled her dreams. The broad cheekbones, the aristocratic nose. The deep blue eyes beneath brows so light blond you could barely see the gray. He bent her over the bed again, still cuffed, still sore from the whip, and positioned his cock at her copiously slick entrance.

  "My horny little pet," he sighed. "Always wet for Master. That pleases me." He grabbed her sore, welted flesh with rough fingers and pulled her back against him. She gasped in breathless anticipation as his thick cock parted her flesh, entering in a long slow slide that sent electric shocks of pleasure down every nerve. Before he'd even entered her completely, she was shaking in the throes of her release. He didn't stop, only gave a soft chuckle. "So poorly trained, and yet so delicious at the same time."