Molly would have made a wonderful mother.
Damn Clayton for taking that out of the picture for her. Well, it wasn’t totally out of the picture. They could adopt. They could easily adapt their dynamic to make room in their lives for a child. But when Mephisto tried to talk to Molly about kids, about how good she was with them, hinting at deeper possibilities, she clammed up. It was clearly a sensitive topic for her. He wondered if she regretted getting sterilized for Clayton. Really, Mephisto couldn’t imagine himself as a father, even though he was nearing forty. Eternal hedonist. But if Molly really wanted kids...
Then again, they were barely getting used to being a couple. If they were going to get into conversations about that, it would be better to wait two or three more years. Maybe five years.
But she looked so sweet with those kids.
Aside from her charity work, there were ongoing legal duties she had to attend to, issues having to do with Clayton’s estate. She attended these meetings alone, dressed in her smart little business suits and low heeled pumps. Mephisto didn’t understand how the men who attended these meetings managed not to fall on her and rape her under the table. But they didn’t, so Mephisto fell on her and raped her at home. Well, he didn’t rape her, but he definitely ripped her smart little business suits off with a lot of gusto and fucked her across the floor with her stockinged legs sliding across his back. He never punished her when her smooth leather pumps kicked him involuntarily when she came.
He very simply craved her all the time. He’d wait, counting the moments even as he busied himself with the necessary tasks of running his business. No matter if she returned from the gym, or violin lessons, or some meditation workshop, he was there waiting for her, to strip off her clothes and reclaim her. He shared her with the outside world only reluctantly, but he had to do it because he wouldn’t enjoy Molly’s submission at her own expense.
He questioned her one day about her environmental science degree, asked her if she wanted to use it to go back to work in her field. She didn’t, but she’d already started following environmentally responsible companies and investing heavily in them with Clayton’s money. She did all these powerful and amazing things, his delectable little slave, and then she came home to him and served him, and he knew that service was what fulfilled her most of all.
He wasn’t misguided enough to believe he had anything to do with that, beyond being judged worthy enough to receive her service. Molly’s needs and talents were inborn. Like him, she’d felt a fascination with power exchange long before she understood about relationships and sex. She told him funny stories of tying herself up as a child, forcing herself to wait in a dark closet even though she was afraid. I’m glad you’re here to do it for me now, she’d sigh, as he tied her or whipped her. No dark closet, but a cage she spent time in nearly every day. Mephisto knew she’d be perfectly content to sleep in there, but most nights he wanted her with him, so in that, she didn’t get her way.
When it seemed she was sinking into life as his slave quite blissfully, when it seemed a sure, longtime thing, he started searching in earnest for a collar for her. Lorna was his go-to source for leather and harnesses, but for jewelry he turned to his friend Tadpole, a 50ish metalworker gentleman whose amphibious name was never explained. His name didn’t matter. All anyone cared about was that he made the most beautiful jewelry, collars, manacles, and piercings to be found. Mephisto decided he wanted something delicate and decorative for Molly. Something she could wear every day without fielding inappropriate questions, but something with a weight and design that would remind her of her status, and something strong enough to be yanked on when he was feeling that way.
Tadpole finally came up with a stainless steel chain that would be sized to lie just at the base of her neck. It was thick enough to feel heavy, thick enough to provide the needed strength, but still delicate enough to pass for a necklace. On a whim Mephisto added a charm with the letter “M”. Her outside friends and acquaintances would assume it stood for Molly, but Molly would know exactly what it stood for. Master, or Mephisto. Both. He was both things to her and hopefully would be for some time.
Good, she was finally home. He turned to her, taking in her sweet smile, her pretty curls. He didn’t have to tell her what to do by this point. She undressed with just a look from him, went to drop her clothes off in the laundry room. She returned and presented herself to him, chin up, hands at her sides.
“What did you do today, kitten?” he asked.
He half listened to her retelling. Family Center volunteering and lunch with Eliot—cleared with him first, of course. Eliot was apparently applying to law schools, mulling which branch of law he wanted to go into. Not surprisingly, Molly was nudging him toward environmental law. Mephisto thought the hapless man would probably end up doing it, because Molly was hard to say no to, even with her soft voice and self-effacing manner. Anyone who really knew her knew the strength that lied beneath. After that, in the afternoon, spa treatment and waxing. He smiled and palmed her smooth mons.
“What a fun, relaxing day for you,” he murmured.
“Not totally fun, Master. A woman came into the Family Center today. She had been...terribly...” His slave’s voice tensed up, and tears pooled in her eyes. “And she had this…this little girl...”
“Oh, honey.” He pulled her close and embraced her, letting her feel the safety she craved, the safety she wished for everyone. He had a feeling there’d been some very dark days in her own childhood, only because she never, ever talked about her past with him. “It’s good that she came in to get some help,” he said. “Now she and her daughter can be safe.”
“No,” Molly said into his shoulder. “She left her daughter and went back to her husband. She said he loved her, and she loved him. But she worried for her daughter.”
Mephisto just held her. This wasn’t the first sad story she’d told him from the Family Center, and undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last. She pulled back and looked at him. “I’m so thankful for you. That you’re not like that. That I can trust you.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “But I wonder what will end up happening to that little girl.”
He stroked her hair, brushed away the one fat tear that escaped. “With any luck, she’ll find her way to a safe place.”
After a moment, Molly seemed to master her emotions. She forced a smile and held his hand. “Master, I missed you. How can I serve you? I’ve been looking forward to serving you all day.”
He guided her to her knees and unzipped himself. She attended to him with the expertise and attention of a seasoned slave, while he tried not to collapse under the continuous waves of pleasure. She licked and fondled him, taking his cock deep when he grasped the back of her neck. “Yes...yes,” he moaned. “Such a good girl.”
Before he was too far gone, he stopped her, pulled her up and backed her over to medical-play table. He strapped her ankles into the stirrups and forced her thighs wide. He loved to lick her pussy, partly because he knew she hated it and partly because he loved her softness and her taste. “Please, no,” she begged. Molly’s pussy and clit were so sensitive that Mephisto’s teases and nibbles were like a form of torture to her. She wailed when he worked his tongue all around her clitoral hood and lapped at the little button inside. “Master!”
She knew he wouldn’t stop. He never stopped until she was so wrung out and overstimulated that she ceased to fight him, and then he’d part her legs and fuck her until she arched up off the table and yanked at the cuffs holding her down. Today there was a heightened feel to their joining, a deeper emotion. All this time he’d been preparing to collar her, he knew what he was really preparing for was sharing the revelation that he loved her, that he’d loved her for ages.
He was completely, desperately in love with her.
“Yes, kitten, yes.”
She reached out for him as climax rolled over both of them. Afterward, lazily, he undid the cuffs and draped her legs over his shoulders, rubbing his hands across her
sweet belly, so flat and yet femininely rounded at the same time. Her hips, her breasts, all of her so precious and lovely to him.
He told her over dinner, over chicken parm and salad with his favorite dressing he’d taught her to make. “I think it’s time for us to become a little more permanent,” he said. “I want you to wear my collar. Do you think you’re ready for that?”
Molly gave him her sweet little smile. “I would love that, Master. You honor me so much.”
“No, I love you so much.” There, he’d said it. “I’ve actually loved you forever. A long time, anyway. This is long overdue. So if you’re willing, I’ll put a collar on you this weekend. A nice metal one that will never come off. Would you like that, kitten?”
“Oh, Master.” That was all she had to say, all she seemed capable of saying. From the joy in her eyes, he could tell the answer was yes.
Chapter Eleven: Lucky
Molly cradled the violin beneath her chin, painstakingly tuning the instrument. All around her, granite tombstones stood at attention, her captive audience, but she was playing for one man and one man only. Clayton Copeland, resting under the ground.
Other than the tombstones, the cemetery was empty. There was only Master Mephisto, sitting a few rows away on a scrolled iron bench. He always let her and Clayton have their privacy, but he wouldn’t let her come alone. The cemetery was too isolated, he said. Maybe, in the beginning, he’d worried that she wouldn’t come home, that she’d do something drastic here. She’d thought about it many times the first few weeks. She’d spent hours sobbing her eyes out and clawing at the ground like she could get at the man who’d deserted her, the man she’d loved and hated at once.
“This is from a Bach sonata in C-minor,” she said in the silence. “I’ve been practicing it for a while.”
She stood in front of his headstone and played the pretty, somewhat mournful melody. She played it because it was beautiful, and because she’d worked a long time to get to a point where she was proud to play for him, even though he couldn’t hear it. The tone of her violin was almost perfect, post-repair, but not quite. That was okay with her. In one thoughtful moment it had occurred to her that the violin was like her and her old Master’s relationship. Almost perfect, but not quite. It didn’t make it any less worthwhile to her. Someone could come pry her imperfect violin away from her cold dead hands if they wanted to try it. She wouldn’t let it go, and she’d never let Clayton go either, not while she drew breath.
Luckily Master Mephisto was okay with that. From her peripheral vision she could see him sitting, watching, waiting for her. This wasn’t the first time she’d played at her former Master’s gravesite. She’d started doing it several weeks ago, back when she and Mephisto were living together but not yet as Master and slave. Back when she’d been seeing Eliot and feeling conflicted about her needs. Clayton hadn’t had any answers for her then, and he didn’t now, but it brought her a great sense of connection to play for him here.
When she finished the short sonata she stretched her fingers and looked up at the sky. It was a bright, sunny blue even though winter was approaching. It had been cold when Clayton died, and it had upset her, thinking of him lying in the cold ground. It would grow cold again, and again, and again, year after year. She knew he couldn’t feel it but the idea of it still chilled her.
“This is the second half of Bach’s Chaconne. I’m not that good at it yet but I’ll try for you. Bach wrote it for his wife after she died.” She lifted her bow, then stopped. “It’s not maudlin though. Just beautiful. I think you’ll like it. And I’ll keep practicing, and I’ll come here and play it again for you in a year and you’ll see how much better I am.”
She began to play. After a few bars she glanced over to find Master Mephisto watching her directly now. If he thought she was crazy for talking to ghosts and gravestones he kept it to himself. Chaconne was a lengthy piece, but wonderful to play. She liked the second half especially. While Molly made a few mistakes, she enjoyed filling the quiet cemetery with music on this clear, blue-sky day. When she finished, she knelt to place her violin in its case.
She crept closer to his headstone then, tracing the letters of his name, the dates of his birth and death. Husband and friend, it read, a simple epitaph for a very rich and powerful man. They were his own words, laid out in his explicitly framed funeral plans. In Molly’s mind, it should have been Husband, Master, and friend, but she understood why that wouldn’t have worked. Below there was a small etched heart—a space, she was told, for her own name and dates if she chose to be buried here. That at least was appropriate, that her heart would reside there forever beneath his name, even if, for some reason, she didn’t sleep here someday.
She raised her eyes to Master Mephisto, then lowered them again.
“Master, you should know...” She reached out and ran her fingers over the grass at the base of the stone, over the fresh, dewy flowers she always brought to decorate his grave. “You should know that your friend Mephisto is going to collar me. Soon. Tomorrow I think.”
Last night she’d crept into the closet in the guest room, huddled against her Master’s pillow and grasped his eternity collar against her chest and sobbed for him. Sobbed for the end of them. Mephisto had come to her and told her what she already knew, that there were no endings. That going to Master Mephisto didn’t mean losing Master Clayton, or betraying him, or losing faith. Later, her old Master visited her in her dreams. He’d come before, but this time it felt so real. He’d come to her warm and naked, and pressed his body to hers. He’d worn that smile she used to live for, his light blue eyes twinkling, communicating desperately needed approval. The familiar girth and length of his cock had pressed against her belly as he kissed her. “My darling girl,” he’d said. “I’ll always love you. Always, always, your whole life. I want you to be happy. Are you happy?”
“I am happy,” she answered him now. “If you’re somewhere listening to me, or in some spirit world somewhere, just know that I’m happy and that you were right all along. Master Mephisto is caring and wonderful, and I feel like he’s just right for me. Not that we’re very much like you and I used to be.”
She bit her lip and sniffled a little, tears coming to her eyes.
“Sometimes I wonder at some of the stuff you did. But I’m not mad. I was different then. I know you really cared for me and loved me in your way. I think maybe you were what I needed then, but Master Mephisto is who I need now, so I hope you’re happy for us.” She smiled, touching his name again. “I know you meant all along for me to be his if anything happened to you. Anyway...”
She stood up and brushed at her knees. “I’ll come again soon. Next time I’ll show you my collar. He says it’s a chain this time, and it’s pretty, although yours was pretty too. I still have it. I’ll always keep it.” She paused, crouching and reaching down to touch the heart, her heart. “I miss you so much, Master. I love you. I always will.”
She straightened and looked over at Mephisto. He stood from his shady bench and came to join her. “You okay?”
He always asked that, and she always did feel surprisingly okay. She nodded and picked self-consciously at her violin case.
“How’s Clayton these days? Did you tell him about the collar?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “He said he approves. He wants me to be happy.”
“He always wanted you to be happy. Want me to carry that for you?”
She shook her head and clasped her violin case close as they started back to the car.
“Those songs you played were really beautiful, kitten. You’ve come a long way. I’m proud of you. He would have been too.”
“Thank you, Master,” she said softly. She didn’t know if she was thanking Mephisto, or Clayton, or both of them. In the end, it probably didn’t matter. Both of them had her heart.
*** *** ***
Mephisto didn’t want some big ceremony for his slave’s collaring. Some rite or ritual, a lot of formal words. None of that was
necessary.
No. On Sunday morning, after she took care of her personal needs, he simply tied her to his bed and started playing with her. He left some slack for her hands so she could struggle a little, but he tied her ankles more tightly. He didn’t want her to have any sense of being able to close her legs. Mine. All mine.
He teased her mercilessly for an hour to begin. He clamped her nipples so her face grew tight with pain, then set a vibrator against her clit until her hips started to jerk. Just when her breathing reached a certain point, he’d shut the vibrator off. Clamps off. Breathe. Tease. Different clamps on again. Riding crop to the clit, tawse to the nipples. Vibrator, crying, pleading for mercy, for release.
But no, not yet. They stopped for breakfast, which for Molly consisted of a throat full of semen. Mephisto enjoyed toast and eggs, feeding Molly now and again once she was done sucking his cock. She squirmed in her place at his feet—he told her she was too horny to sit at the table. When he ordered her to sit still, the fun really began. She was clearly ready to jump out of her skin, but she controlled herself, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. The only indication of her need was the fierce lust in her gaze.
After breakfast he put her to work cleaning up the dishes while he prepped a generously sized ass plug and returned to where she stood at the sink. “Bend over.”
She barely glanced back, just obeyed. Even the pain of the large intrusion in her asshole didn’t seem to take the edge off her horniness. She pressed her hips against the edge of the countertop as he drove it home, sighing when it was fully seated. He lifted her, signaling her to finish the dishes. She moved gingerly now, her ass cheeks clenched as he shadowed her around the kitchen.
“Does that hurt, Molly? Having that big plug in your ass?” he asked.