She swallowed hard, placing the last dish in the dish rack. “It hurt going in, Master. Very much. It only hurts a little now.”
“If you want my collar, you’ll have to let me hurt you whenever I want to. That’s something I require.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Do you want my collar, Molly?”
She turned to him, her eyes wide, her body open to him. “Oh, yes, Master. I want it more than anything on earth.”
He took her to the dungeon space next, fixed her to a spanking trestle with her ass in the air, legs spread and secured at ankle and knee so she couldn’t move. More nipple clamps, the chain between them wrapped beneath the apparatus so any jerks upward would result in a vicious yank. She spent another hour here, suffering for his pleasure. He beat her until her tears were real, until her cries grew desperate, and then he’d take a break, remove the clamps, let her think her ordeal was over, only to begin again once she calmed down. The lesson here: I’ll hurt you, sometimes very badly, but never beyond what you can take.
It fascinated Mephisto to watch her body process the pain, and to watch the processes of her mind as well. At the end, he added pleasure into the mix, removing the clamps for good and sliding a vibrating wand beneath her pussy. How quickly her misery transformed into bliss. He knew that for Molly misery and bliss were tethered together on a very short line. He picked up a cane and marked her with it, hitting her harder than she probably could have taken at the beginning of the hour. It was just hard enough to keep her burgeoning orgasm at bay. Every time she ground on the wand, he lashed her again. She’d howl and shudder, and seek the pleasure to help her endure the pain.
“Okay, enough,” he said, pulling the wand away mid-grind. Molly sobbed, her hips seeking solace that was no longer there. He gave her three more with the cane, accompanied by cries and yowls. By the last, she collapsed against the trestle, all pleasure fled from her body’s memory, chased out by burning agony. He put away the cane and stood back to study her nicely marked ass and thighs. Satisfied, he crossed to the front of her.
“Why does Master hurt you?” he whispered.
“Because you’re a sadist,” she answered shakily. “My pain brings you pleasure, Master.”
“That’s right. Anyone who wants my collar has to be a masochist. Are you a masochist, Molly?”
“Yes, Master.”
He slapped her fresh cane tracks. She threw her head back and made a desperate sound. “You want my collar?”
“Yes, Master. Please!”
Back to the bedroom. Unplugged, given a bathroom break. He put a swipe of tingling oil over her clit, ignoring her whispers for mercy, then tied her on her tummy with orders not to grind against the bed. He left her alone a while to struggle, to crave with her legs spread, her orifices open and needy. Surely she wished to grind her way to orgasm. Her body must want to take over at this point. It had to be a mind-over-matter thing for her. He could see the concentration on her face more than the tension in her body.
At last he approached again, knelt behind her and rolled on a condom. Even after the plug, her hole was a tight fit, but he pressed ahead nonetheless, slowly and firmly, and seated himself balls deep. Her fingers clenched the covers and a tear or two squeezed from her eyes as he fucked her roughly, mechanically. Another lesson. You’re my toy, my fuck doll when I want you to be. It’s not about you, it’s about my needs. She wasn’t crying from pain. She was crying from sexual frustration.
“I know,” he said as he drilled her. “I know you want to come, don’t you, baby?”
“Yes, Master.”
“If you want to wear my collar, you’ll only be allowed to come when I want you to. I might make you go weeks, months without orgasm. Do you still want to wear my collar, Molly?”
“Yes, Master.”
Mephisto chuckled inwardly. Her answer was a lot slower in coming that time. She was probably thinking, months? It was only an exaggeration on his part, but he was glad to know she believed him capable of such horrible depravity. A month, indeed. Five days had almost killed both of them last time he tried a denial regimen with her. Thinking back to those delicious scenes, to their erotic history, had him fucking hard and fast to a mind-splitting orgasm. Fireworks went off behind his eyes as he buried himself in her ass and pressed her sore cheeks together, savoring every inch of her tightness. He looked down at her, wondering how close she was to orgasm. One easy way to tell. He slid a finger down the front of her waist to her mons, almost to her clit, then stopped. She made a sound he didn’t think he’d ever heard a human make before. Yeah. Still pretty close.
He moved away to throw out his condom and untie her. She still looked hopeful, like now he might let her come, or give her the collar already, the collar she wanted so badly. Months without orgasm. Hm. He cleaned her up instead and led her to the cage in the corner, guided her in. “You know how this goes. On your back, legs spread. No touching, no coming.” He shut the door and locked it, holding her woebegone gaze. “Oh, and I expect you to think about one thing and one thing only until I return to you. Master’s cock filling your holes. Mouth, ass, pussy, whatever strikes your fancy, but that’s what I expect you to do. Do you understand me?”
Molly looked like she was about to start bawling. “Yes, Master. It will give me a lot of pleasure to think about your cock.”
“I hope so.”
He left her, pretending not to hear the long suffering sigh she exhaled as he walked away. Out in his office he watched her on cam, squirming, taking deep breaths in and out, but never once closing her legs. What a good girl. What a good slave, and all his.
After twenty minutes or so he couldn’t wait anymore. He grabbed the silver chain collar with its little “M” charm and returned to the bedroom. He hunkered down beside the cage, expecting perhaps irritation or agony, but her face lit up in a smile.
“I’ve been thinking about you, Master. Dreaming about you, waiting for you, and here you are.”
He could have switched the words around and they would have worked as well. I’ve been thinking about you, Molly. Dreaming about you, waiting for you, and here you are. My slave that I’ve waited for forever. Finally mine.
He pulled her out from the enclosure and covered her right there on the floor, nudging her knees open with his. His stomach slid against hers, his abs nestling against her softness. His arms braced on either side of her head, the collar still clasped in one hand. He pressed into her with a slow, deliberate pace, watching the delight and arousal in her features. He slid out again and she urged him forward with her hips, and then they were moving together in a frantic joining.
“Were you dreaming of me, kitten? As you were told?”
“Yes, Master. Oh God!” She sighed as he drove his hips against her, into her tightness and warmth.
“Did it feel as good as this?”
“No...no...Master...this feels almost too good.”
He chuckled. “Too good? Not too good for a little slavegirl who needs to come to please her Master. Twice at least.”
She ended up coming three times, over and over, as he fought to keep her contained under him. She twisted and bucked, her eyes alive as she gazed at him. He finally climaxed too, a thunderous orgasm triggered by her third vociferous one. They came to rest in a tangle of arms and legs. He stared down at her, brushing her locks out of her face. He couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across his face.
“Okay, I believe you. You really do want my collar.”
Molly beamed back at him. “I want it forever. Master.” She added the Master when she remembered, but the forever was the word that echoed in his mind. Did he want this forever? It wasn’t fair to collar her otherwise. He knew Molly loved until death. Until after death, he amended, remembering her playing her violin for Clayton the day before. The silence of the cemetery had carried all her sweet words to him, although he didn’t intentionally eavesdrop.
“I love you, Molly,” he said to her. “I always will.” His fingers trembled a little on
the clasp. Once he clicked the small lock into place, she wouldn’t be able to get it off without his assistance. He fastened the collar around her neck, and that was that. Now, always. Forever. “It looks good on you,” he said softly.
She didn’t say anything, just touched the collar with a kind of reverence and then launched herself into his embrace.
*** *** ***
“Molly girl. Either get it in gear and get dressed, or you’ll be back on the trestle instead of having dinner. Our reservations are for seven. Sharp.”
Molly looked over her shoulder in the mirror at her Master. He looked fine in everyday clothes, but when he dressed up he really looked...sinful. Sinfully hot. She was torn now between staring at her beautiful new collar and staring at him, when what she really needed to do was dry her hair and finish getting ready to go out.
But oh...so beautiful. Her new collar was so beautiful. She hadn’t known what it would look like until he’d come striding into the room with it dangling from his fingertips. She couldn’t stop touching it now, it was so pretty and shiny and sleek. It had an “M” on it for Master, which she loved most of all.
“Focus, Molly.”
“Yes, Master.”
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?”
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