“I miss him so badly,” she choked out. “I miss him so much.”
She felt a touch on her back, just a soft brush of fingers. She turned to Mephisto and buried her face against his arm.
“I didn’t mean those things I said about him before. I’m just lost, and angry. I miss him. I feel like I’m going to die.”
“I know,” Mephisto said softly. “I can see how much you miss him.”
“I know he loved me. And I loved him so much. And now...now I just don’t see how to go on. I don’t know what to do with myself, where to go in my life. I don’t want to be anyone else’s slave.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“But... But...” She started bawling like an idiot. “I kind of do. I miss being taken care of. I’m so lonely. And so stupid and needy.” All the words came spilling out along with the tears soaking Mephisto’s shoulder. He put his arms around her and squeezed her, his warmth so familiar and comforting.
“It’s not stupid to feel needy. Not right now. Of course you feel needy. Clayton knew you would feel this way, and he worried very much about it. We talked about it many times.” He leaned back to brush her damp hair from her eyes. “He knew you very well.”
“Why did he leave me?” The question came out a ragged wail, while Molly cried into the wall of Mephisto’s chest. “Why? Why, why?” No matter how many times she asked it, no reasonable answer was forthcoming. Mephisto offered no reassurances, no platitudes, just a steadily beating heart against her ear. Molly cried until her eyes burned and her lungs hurt and then she fell into a kind of stupor, just drifting, feeling secure and safe for the first time in a long time in the circle of Mephisto’s arms.
“I should have been there for you before now,” he whispered. “I promised Clay.”
Molly sniffled and sat up, rubbing her eyes. “It was my fault. Choices I made.” Her lips twisted into a quavery smile. “You should have put me in the bad girl cage last night.”
“I might have, if I wasn’t so afraid you’d hurt yourself. You scared me. You freaked me out.”
She gazed into his eyes, so intent with concern. “I’m sorry, Mephisto. For this craziness. For dragging you into my issues.”
“No, I’m glad you dragged me into them. Will you let me help you? Help you find happiness again?”
Any thought of Mephisto and help always triggered confused, guilty feelings in her. She tensed and drew away from him, needing space, but his hands tightened on her.
“No. Not like that. I know you don’t want that. Let me help you, no strings attached. Let me help you as a friend.”
“How?”
“By bringing a little structure to your life. I understand you’re not into fetish anymore, so I won’t offer any kind of BDSM dynamic. But I would like to take care of you for a while. Help you get back on track.”
Molly knew Mephisto. She knew what his offer meant. “You think I need control. Someone to control me.”
He raised a shoulder, tilting his head to the side with a small smile. “Control is such an aggressive word. Let me manage you for a while.”
Manage. That was a slightly less loaded word. She dropped her head to the table, thunking her forehead. Mephisto sighed. She looked up again, grabbing her hair in fistfuls.
“Why am I like this?” she moaned. “Why can’t I just take care of myself like a normal person?”
“You can. You’re here, aren’t you? You found your way here even half out of your mind.”
“But why?”
“Why is the earth round, Molly? Why is the sky blue? Who the fuck knows why? Who cares? If you need to feel managed to survive for a while, then be managed. Don’t break yourself into pieces over it.”
“But it’s not normal!”
“By whose compass? What scale of normalcy are you judging yourself by? Margaret Kearney’s scale? Gloria Steinem’s? Dr. Phil’s? The only scale you should be using is your own.”
“My scale says I’m batshit crazy.”
“Mine does too, at the moment. But you’ve known peace. Give yourself some time to figure out what you crave, what will fulfill you. What will make your world bright again. Accept yourself as you are and don’t worry about what anyone else thinks.” He leaned close to her, taking her hands, perhaps in some attempt to keep her from twisting her hair out of her head. “You’re feeling shame for who you are, and it pains me. These are the same shame-based issues that drove you to become self-destructive before. I don’t know where it comes from, but I know it’s not good for you.”
Shame. The bane of her life. Even now, shame covered her like a cloak. It kicked her between the legs, over and over. She looked down at her hands entwined with Mephisto’s, pale white and warm brown fingers interlaced. He gazed into her eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know.”
“That’s because you accept me as I am. Because you understand me.”
He took a deep breath as the words she’d said echoed around and around in her head. Clayton, her husband, her Master, her love... He’d begun trying to bring Molly and Mephisto together even before he died. Because of this. Because Mephisto understood her, because he didn’t judge her or make her feel shamed and worthless for wanting to live under the dominion of a man.
And because Mephisto was safe.
“Please help me,” she said. Her voice cracked and the tears started again, but Mephisto didn’t let go of her hands. “I...I don’t know yet what I want. I don’t know how much control I want.”
“Of course you don’t. I understand that.”
“I can’t promise... I can’t give you anything yet. I mean, some, but not very much. I just don’t know...”
He let go of her hand to stroke her face. His fingers slid through her tears, warm and reassuring. “It’s okay not to know. Let’s forget about the future and just take care of now. We’ll take things slow and keep them nonsexual. I’ll only provide the structure, the authority you miss.”
“Can you do that?” she asked through tears. “Can people exchange power and have it not be sexual?”
“Sure they can.”
“You would do that for me?”
He gazed at her for a long moment. “Molly, I would do almost anything for you. You have to realize that by now. But I’ll need you to stay here with me to make this work. You’ll be clothed, there won’t be any sexual expectations. You’ll be taking care of yourself as much as possible, but I still want you here where I can keep track of you.”
She tensed. “In the cage?”
“In the guest room.” He paused. “Unless you wig out of your brain again, but that better not happen. No drugs, Molly. No alcohol, unless I allow it. This is not negotiable.”
Molly blushed under his direct regard. “I can live without that stuff. I’m actually tired of being so out of control.”
“Control, management, supervision, whatever. I’m happy to give it to you if it will help. We’ll go over to Clayton’s today to get whatever you might need to feel at home here. Your clothes and things.”
The easy authority in his voice was like a familiar coat wrapping around her. Molly swallowed hard and settled into the security she’d been missing for weeks now.
“Yes, sir,” Mephisto provided quietly when she didn’t respond.
“Yes, sir,” Molly said.
Chapter Four: Management
Molly stalled at the door to the home she and Clayton had shared. Mephisto figured it would be bad, considering she couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m sure you have things you need to do,” she said. “I can pack for myself. I’ll take a cab back to your place.”
“Open it.”
It wasn’t a request, but a command. Molly sighed and bent over the lock while Mephisto stared down at the bruises on the back of her neck. They were worst there, since she’d pulled and tugged the collar forward, God knew for how long. Since she’d decided it was shameful and disgusting to be a slave, he supposed. There was no guarantee she wouldn’t feel that way again a
few hours from now. Tomorrow. Next week. But he’d do what he could to keep that from happening.
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.
Burn For You Page 5
