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
“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
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